


Winds of Change

by aceupthesleeve



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, POV Female Character, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-05-13 12:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 52
Words: 179,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceupthesleeve/pseuds/aceupthesleeve
Summary: Jane hasn't played Neverwinter Nights in years. So when she becomes lost in a world that's not her own, all she wants is to find a way back home - and she's willing to do almost anything to get there, budding feelings be damned.HOTU... with some big twists. Slow burn romance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

**NOW**

_Gods, it was bloody dark._

The low hum of the day-to-day in the temple enveloped us — a constant quiet murmur, broken by the occasional sharp word of a female drow.

I squinted into my bag, trying to make heads or tails of what I was looking at —  _why in the Nine Hells had I decided to keep Beholder eye stalks?_ I gave them a tentative sniff.

An inpatient sigh sounded from directly behind me, followed by the shifting of armoured boots.

I rolled my eyes with a shrug at the glassy grey beholder stalks.

The source of the sigh, Valen Shadowbreath, towered behind me; the pale tiefling with a dark scowl.

Beside him stood his silent drow counterpart, Nathyrra, who had  _just_ evened the odds in my fight to free Halaster, the day before. She watched silently from her position against the wall. Her eyes were narrowed as she observed every move I made. A lazy smile curved her lips — more sinister than friendly.

Conscious of all of the eyes on me, I returned my attention to the mess in front of me.

I gave a satisfied nod, before replacing all of my belongings — my precious notebook on top — and pushing my bag aside. Unfastening the tight buckles, I began sifting through the tiefling's much larger pack.

I'd already searched through Nathyrra's meagre belongings — who'd seemed more curious than anything as she silently relinquished all of her worldly possessions. With a frustrated sigh, I'd found little of worth that she wouldn't immediately need. I reminded myself that she hadn't been with the Seer for long. She hadn't intended to permanently leave her previous employer, after all…

Valen's pack — belonging to the more travelled of the two — had proven more fruitful, so far.

I removed his bigger items in search of what he could afford to sell.

The tiefling in question towered behind me, a watchful shadow.

He'd strongly voiced his concerns about my treatment of his belongings before relinquishing temporary ownership.

I shifted a few more belongings.

Another sigh.

"I get the feeling you don't like me very much," I murmured over my shoulder with a half-smirk.

I heard him shift his weight again. "Untrue," he began.

_I don't even know you_ , I remembered suddenly, my hands momentarily pausing at the all-too-familiar feeling of déjà vu.

"I do not even know you," he echoed.  _And wasn't that the truth?_ "So I can hardly dislike you."

He didn't seem happy with his statement, based on the pause that followed.

I gave an amused huff as I placed a couple of loose coins from his pack onto the floor beside me, before continuing in my search. "Coulda fooled me."

I could feel something small and hard wedged in the bottom corner. I dug deeper, before: "Ahuh!" I exclaimed, pulling out a small stone. It had been trapped in a seam at the bottom. "They really are a girl's best friend," I told my new companions with a satisfied nod.

I admired the clear diamond between thumb and index finger.

"Here," I flung back my other hand, impatiently clasping and unclasping my fingers. "Pass me my satchel. It's the dirty — well, dirtier — one."

He gently kicked the small bag toward me.

With a happy nod, I pulled my embarrassingly light coin purse from within and began placing the stones and loose coins inside. We would almost have enough to get us started…

"Unlike the Seer, I'm not about to put all of my faith in you." Valen deep voice cut through my thoughts.

I looked over my shoulder at my companions. Nathyrra's expression hadn't changed at his admission, but I noticed her lazy stance had tensed at the conversation's direction.

I bobbed my head from side to side.

Tightening my coin purse with his hard-earned loot inside, I caught the deep worry line that had formed above his light blue eyes.

I felt the Beholder's eye stalks boring into me — judging.

Conscious of his lighter pack, I grabbed a few narrow glass vials from my bag. The green glow of the healing potions threw dramatic shadows all around us as I carefully placed them in the empty potion compartment at the opening of his pack.

I caught his silent nod of approval.

_That should leave me with enough for now…_

I gave the insides of my bag and the outer-pockets one final sweep, mentally categorising everything as either important or soon-to-be-sold.

"Now, my dear," Enserric drawled from his place beside my pack. "Which category do I fall under?"

I smirked, hearing Valen shift to get a better look at the surprise speaker.

"Would I ever sell you, Enserric?" I tutted at the sentient sword, smirk still firmly in place.

A beat, and then an indignant: "Yes!"

I shrugged, assessing the collection of items before me. Finally happy I hadn't missed anything, I buckled the bag back in place.

"A talking sword," I heard Valen mutter, either to himself or Nathyrra I wasn't sure.

"So then," I started with a wry smile over my shoulder at the two of them. "Who's a lady gotta kill to prove themselves?"

He made a nondescript sound that may have been a chuckle. "Indeed." he drew out. "Prove yourself against the Valsharess, and then we will know you are who they say you are, Emma."

I fought a grimace at his choice of wording.

_Sure. Easy-peasy._

With a groan, I pushed back to my feet, rolling my shoulders.

"We're going to have to sell what we can, and stock up," I shrugged in a way I hoped was apologetic. "I need to buy some better boots," I wiggled my toes.

The leather binding holding my shoes in place was almost completely mismatched from numerous repairs, and what little of the fur that remained around the opening was crusty with who-knows-what.

"Keep an eye out for something that'll help me see better in low-light, too," I asked of the drow by our side. She quirked a snowy white eyebrow at my easy admittance of weakness. I shifted my unstrung bow and quiver to my side. "What I'd do to be able to see properly again," I continued wistfully to myself.

I'd need that and some better protection for myself — I wasn't going to make it far without more magical intervention.

_Even with everything I knew..._

Shaking my head, I pushed the thought aside. We'd start with the weaker enemies, avoid the non-essentials, and improve our equipment as we went.

_If you can count anything as a weak enemy in the Underdark…_

I rubbed absently at my upper arm, where a drow's poisoned blade had nicked me just the day before.

I pushed that thought aside.  _Focus on acquainting yourself with the Seer's camp first, then you can worry about how you want to die._

I pulled my pack onto my back with more enthusiasm than I felt.

Meanwhile, Valen had scooped up his own substantially lighter pack from the ground, before raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"Well," I said with a smirk. "Let go work on that trust."

Then, squaring my shoulders, I pushed open the heavy door, and stepped out into the dark streets of Lith My'athar.

* * *

**THEN**

_God, it was bright._

_Big and blue and bright._

I squinted, raising a hand in an attempt to shield my eyes from the unrelenting sky above.

_Where the shit was I?_

I sat up, wrapping my arms around myself as I realised just how god-damn cold it was, despite the sky's welcoming colour. Goosebumps appeared along my bare arms and I rubbed my pale skin. I exhaled deeply, a plume of mist escaping my chapped lips.

I knew I needed to get up, but my head was foggy and I couldn't quite remember how I'd ended up here.

_Where was here?_

The wind cut deep with a shrill howl, chilling me to the bone.

_Where did you leave your jacket?_

I looked around in panic, my eyes darting about the… grassy hilltops?

They stretch as far as the eye could see, frost capping the tops of each unkempt blade of grass. A scattering of small yellow flowers waved erratically at me. I could just make out the tops of trees in the distance, the leaves glistening like a mirage. I caught the brief streak of a large bird as it dipped into the trees and out of sight.

I scrambled to my feet, suddenly very desperate to be  _up_. The grass crunched beneath my bare toes, damp and numbingly cold.

"Where am I?" I whispered into the wind.

The wind howled.

I turned in a full circle, suddenly worried I might not be alone, but it was the same green nothing on all sides.

_What happened?_

I'd been at home. There'd been a bottle of red wine on the bench.

_I fell asleep on the couch._

My memory faded around the edges, but I could clearly remember one barely touched glass on the coffee table. It had been an early night.

_Maybe sleep walking?_ I usually did that when I had too much on my mind…  _I think the last few weeks would definitely count…_

I let that idea die, as I was overcome with a violent tremble. It was too cold — too new. I didn't walk here from home.

I held myself tight, and I walked. Straight ahead and towards the trees.

One cold foot in front of the other.

As I pushed through the chill, I reached into my jeans' pocket and pulled out my mobile.

_Thank shit._ I breathed a sigh of relief. It had a couple more hours of battery life left in it. More than enough to get me home, surely.

My stomach dropped.  _No reception._

I lifted it above my head as I walked, turning in a circle. Nothing.  _Of course lifting it higher didn't work. Why would that ever work?_

_Emergency Calls Only_ , my screen mocked me.

_Not yet_ , I told myself as I shoved my unhelpful phone back into my pocket.

_Don't panic. Someone will be able to help me and make sense of where I am. I'll find a sign. A road. Something._

I felt the wind urging me on, my hair blowing away from my face as I walked up the crest of a hill — towards the trees. My nose stung from the biting cold, but I forced myself to breathe evenly.

Then, I jolted at the shrill call of what could only be a bird.

A woman's head suddenly bobbed up into my field of vision, long brown hair billowing around her shoulders in an unruly mane. Then the rest of her appeared, as she crested the hill and started towards me.

We took each other in, silently.

_What on Earth…_

And that's when I realised — I'd lost my mind.

* * *

**NOTEBOOK EXTRACT**

_Jane's messy handwriting covers a double-spread, outlining what appears to be an inventory summary, come shopping list._

_This list is followed by a crudely drawn map of Lith My'athar, with the different merchant's circled._

**Belt:**

Throwing knives, non-magical, 3

Longsword, Enserric - sell?

Potion of full heal, 3 - always need more!

Rogue stones, 2 - again, always need more!

**Wearing:**

Greenleaf armour - would look cool as fuck if it wasn't so damn green

Cloak - warm… that's it. Buy a new one?

Bracers of dexterity - see how much an upgrade would cost

Old leather boots - needs replacing (Boots of Striding?)

Amulet of Natural Armor -  _looks_ like an okay quality one…

My ring on necklace

Ring of protection - missing a stone and pretty battered, upgrade if money left over

Cursed (?) ring

Belt of Agility - seems like it's really good quality, very noticeable difference when wearing it

Valiantheart Longbow - needs upgrading

Quiver - needs desperate restocking

**Satchel:**

Healing kit - ask Nathyrra about any useful local flora

Poison's bag

Potion's case - need a few more Potions of Cat's Grace

Random components box - don't open; stinks!

This notebook - need a new one, almost full

Relic of the Reaper.  _This is followed by a small_ —  _but very detailed_ —  _drawing of a hand giving the middle finger._

Rod of Resurrection, 3 charges left (triple-shit!)

Waterskin

Djinn bottle

Gem of brightness

Wooden goblet - gift from the dryad near Hilltop

**Pack:**

Throwing knives, non-magical, 5

Rope, 20m

Flint and steel

Rations, 5 days worth - Undermountain desperately needs an Uber Eats

Tea Case: Loose herbal tea and tea bag cloth - running low

Blanket

Cup, cutlery, bowl and saucepan

Shadows of Undrentide by Deekin Scalesinger.  _This is followed by a lovingly drawn music note._

Timber torch and rags

Money pouch - too light!

**Bag of Holding:**

Dagger, Ice Talon - for Nathyrra?

Deck of Hazards - not sure if it's worth the risk of trying? Should probably sell it…

Brooch of Shielding

Unidentifiable wands, 3 - See if Nathyrra or Valen can identify and either give to her or sell

Belt of Strength - Not sure on quality, see if Valen wants it, or sell

Armour of freedom - sell

Drow full plate, 1 - good quality, sell

Drow leather armour, 3 - varying qualities, sell

Robe of Eyes - sell

Shadow Robe - looks hot as fuck, plus nifty concealment enchantments.  _This is crossed out, followed by:_ sell

Shiver-ring -  _might_ be good for Cania?

A pouch of gems and decorative jewelry of varying colours, sizes and quality

**Quiver:**

Standard arrows, 19

Magically enhanced arrows, 2

Poison arrows, 3 - need to make more, talk to Nathyrra?

**Urgent:**  Need something to help see in the dark!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane begins acquainting herself with the Underdark.

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**NOW**

We stepped out into the stagnant cool air of Lith My'athar, my new companions, Valen and Nathyrra, close on my heels.

The muffled murmur that had permeated the Seer's temple was all around us now, interrupted only by the occasional shout and clash of weapons. The lack of alarm on my companions faces hinted at a far off training ground.

The darkness stretched out on all sides, the roof of the wide cavern too high for me to gauge the distance. As far as I could see, the cavern floor was studded with stalagmites and narrow pillars, all carved with etchings of spider's webbing along their height.

I fought the urge to fish through my pack for my torch, wary of what the quick-to-judge denizens of the city — all with ample darkvision — would think of their  _prophetical saviour_  then. No; I'd have to content myself to almost total darkness until I found a merchant willing to trade with us.

My only light source came from the fires of a forge to my left and the low purple glow of small scattered stones which dotted the pillars like tiny spider's eyes.

"Faerzress," Nathyrra's voice interrupted my inspection of the drow city. I stepped down the temples carved stone stairs, eyes on the sure-footed drow. She motioned to the glowing pillars. "A magical energy which pervades much of the Underdark." She shrugged. "The origin is unknown, but it hinders our enemies from scrying or teleporting within the city limits."

I nodded once, just happy for a light source.  _I wouldn't make for an overly heroic visage tumbling down the temple's stairs._

"That Halaster could teleport you both from Undermountain to within the Seer's temple speaks lengths of his strength," Valen mused from my right.

I scoffed at the mention of the Mad Mage. "That he couldn't just help us kill the Valsharess — instead of putting a bloody geas on me — speaks lengths of his laziness." I itched my arm as I spoke.

_I swear the geas was making my skin tingle every time her name was mentioned…_

He hummed in agreement. "It is a shame that he cursed you so. Chains — even those that the eye can't see — are hardly a way to spark loyalty to a cause." I suspected he spoke from his own experience, but the warning to his tone alleviated all sympathy I felt for the tiefling.

I offered no further response. No point getting annoyed with the stubborn redhead; he would either learn to trust me or I wouldn't have to worry about him for long. Either way, time was the cure.

In silence, Nathyrra led us toward a heavily robed drow male in the elaborate style of the Underdark. He stood by the only fully stocked stall, a dour expression on his thin-lipped face. His cart was lit by more of the glowing purple crystals — the  _faerzress_ , I reminded myself.

"Gulhrys, house Mae'Viir's High Wizard," Nathyrra informed me, upon our approach.

_Just who I was after._

The wizard gave me a scornful glance, before turning his attention to Nathyrra. She tilted her head at me as if to say  _well get on with it._

We traded for some time in clipped words, exchanging everything we wouldn't desperately need for the first part of our trip, for a slowly growing pile of gold. Once happy enough with said pile, I purchased some Boots of Striding — loosening the straps for my wider human calves — and a few enchanted arrows and potions. I bid farewell to my old trusty boots and passed them to the wizard for disposal. As I did so, I queried after anything that would help me see in the dark.

"We cater to the inhabitants of the Underdark," he cleaned his nails as we spoke, inattentive in a way he hadn't been with Nathyrra. "Nightvision is as common as a poisoned blade, in these depths," he shrugged, unapologetic.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration, glancing over my hand at Nathyrra with raised brows. Without sight, I was going to be visiting the Reaper a lot sooner and more frequently than I would have liked.

It was Valen who saved me from my spiraling thoughts. "Rizolvir," he stated. I searched my mind for why that name sounded familiar. "He can imbue something of yours with enchantments to light your path. At least until we find a better alternative."

Then it clicked.  _Rizolvir; the city's smith._

I grabbed what was left of my gold and the wizard returned to his stall with a lazy roll of his ruby red eyes.

Mind made up, I fished a stone from a pocket at my belt. I held it out for them to inspect as we followed Valen to the glowing embers of the forge. It was smooth and yellow, the size of my palm. It shone from within when I rubbed a finger across its surface.

I gave Valen an apologetically wan smile. "It's going to turn me into a beacon and make me an easy target out there. Not to mention it will affect yours and Nathyrra's natural sight," I shrugged. " _But,_  it's a hell of a lot better than being a  _blind_ target."

Valen inspected the stone with minor curiosity before handing it back to me.

"I found it in Undermountain," I explained to fill the silence. "Helped me see in the darker areas. It  _did_  shit my companion at the time, Dealan," I gave a bittersweet smile, "up the wall. Was hoping for an upgrade."

Following the warm glow of the forge, we approached a ring of dull red runes. The scrawl lead to the forge itself, the magical language encircling the stone masterpiece. It was carved out of a pillar and was scattered with more of the glowing purple faerzress.

A young drow sat cross-legged on a large petrified mushroom, oiling a longsword with practiced ease. He wore simple garbs and looked to his companion for direction upon our approach. The other drow stood before the forge, a fine chainmail shirt fitted over a flashy silk tunic and leather breeches.

He looked up from his work, his already dark face streaked with soot and sweat. Rubbing the back of a hand over his forehead, he stood to his full height, stretching his unusually large shoulders.

"Valen," he nodded at the tiefling with an air of familiarity.

The drow looked me up and down before offering a small smile.

"So, you're the surfacer the Seer's been waiting for, aren't you?"  _Well, I certainly haven't seen any other humans in this city, so far._ "I was wondering how long until you wandered over my way." He nodded deeply. "My names Rizolvir, master craftsman and weaponsmith extraordinaire. Pleased to meet you, surfacer."

I smiled at his unexpectedly welcoming tone.

"If there's anything you need, I'm here to help. Feel free to look over my wares. Or, if you want, I could upgrade your weapon for you." He peered over my shoulder at Enserric's pommel with a gleam in his eye.

I could feel the sentient longsword's prickling curiosity in the back of my mind, but I pushed it aside.

_Next time._

_'Cheapskate'_ , he seethed in my mind.

Instead, I held forward the yellow stone for the drow to see. "Actually, was hoping you could imbue the power of this stone into my armor."

He smiled warmly at my request. "That I can," he plucked the stone from my palm and gave it a rudimentary once over.

Next, he requested my quiver, much to my surprise.

I quickly unbuckled the strap across my chest and passed it to him, mindful of the arrows within. He deftly removed the length of leather, propping the quiver against a carved stool of rock. He ran the strap through his hands, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I'll place it here," he pointed a long finger to the middle of the strap, "and you'll have a cone of dull light directly in front of you," he explained, squinting his eyes against the brightness. "I'll also work with Gulhrys," he gave an open grimace, "to have the stone's light changed from yellow to green. It will affect Nathyrra and Valen's eyesight less drastically."

I shrugged, "Sounds good to me."

I passed him a reasonable amount of gold and he organised with his apprentice to have it delivered directly to the Seer's temple at the 'beginning of the next cycle'. Whatever that meant.

We parted ways with another deep nod.

_Equipment sorted for now._

_Sanctioned murder next…_

As we turned away from the forge, I caught Valen's attention. I raised an eyebrow and made a drinking motion near my mouth.

I was met with a moment of confusion, before he offered me a bemused expression — as if to say ' _ready for a break, already?'_

After a moment of consideration, he tilted his head back in the direction we'd come from.

I knew Valen and Nathyrra would have an issue with what I was going to do, but I'd already decided it was best to deal with the drow that wanted to betray the Seer right from the get-go.

_Who knows what information she's been feeding to the Valsharess…_

"I want to see what the moral is like around here," I offered to the silence in explanation, as we started towards our next destination.

Valen offered a gruff grunt of acknowledgment. Nathyrra was silent, her eyes sharp and hard, but showed no other sign of having heard me.

As we passed the Seer's temple, the smell of animals grew stronger. I strained my eyes but saw no sign of livestock given my small bubble of vision.  _There should be some deep rothe around here somewhere…_ I felt a moment of pleasure at remembering the drow's animals names. Whether the information was important or not, I couldn't quite remember…

I could faintly hear water lapping when we approached a massive squat formation of stalagmites, every inch of the rock purposefully carved into patterned spires, which reached up into the darkness. Valen quickly approached the building's door, identifiable from the dull purple glow that escaped from around the hinges.

He pushed open the thick door, "House Mae'Viir's Public House" he stated with an exaggerated flourish —  _smart arse_ — before stepping aside to grant me and Nathyrra easy entry.

Surprisingly, the inside of the pub wasn't much louder than the streets outside, though it was infinitely easier to see.

It was the sights within which stopped me dead in my tracks. I'd never seen anything like it.

Where the Seer's repurposed temple was dark and hard, this building was beautiful in a distinctly non-human way. A glowing stalactite jutted from the middle of the ceiling, emitting a purple haze. It's natural light covered every inch of the place in the light, bouncing off the cool polished stone of the walls and floor. Dark purple glyphs marked the floor in delicate whorls, directing the eyes' attention to a small body of water directly below the stalactite. Small rings formed in the pool's reflective surface, water dripping slowly from the glowing formation above.

A drow woman — her back to us — sat at the edge of the pool, her bare legs submerged in the water.

Books of all colours — more than I could ever hope to read during my stay in the drow city — lined the far wall, slotting into purposeful alcoves in the stone. Near them, drow of both genders milled about. Some lounged upon a cushion covered bench carved into one of the walls, sipping from fine goblets. Others perused the books on display in silence. The majority whispered orders to the grey coloured drow that tended the bar.

A group of heavily armed guards watched our entrance — the only inhabitants of the room that wasn't at ease.

This oasis of glamour and beauty, amidst the doom and dread of the Underdark, was definitely  _not_ what I'd been expecting.

The young drow by the pool had shifted to watch us at some point, her narrowed eyes reflecting the purple haze of the room. She wore a thin white shift —  _did she know it was almost completely see-through?_  — and every inch of her arms was adorned with gold bracelets of varying thicknesses. A high slit up the side allowed her to sit by the water's edge without wetting her clothes. Her long snow-white hair was pulled back in an intricate web of plaits, lengths of pliable gold and gleaming stones woven around the crown of her head.

Despite her rather underdressed appearance, she was obviously a noble — and no mere noble if the air of arrogant confidence she exuded was anything to go by. The four guards —  _her_ guards — stood at full attention upon our inspection of each other.

_I think this is who I was looking for._

"Zesyyr Mae'Viir," Nathyrra softly whispered from my side, a hint of warning to her tone.

Conscious of the number of guards by the young drow's side, I slowly approached.

A sly smile curved her lips.

Her voice was sharp; "So you're the rivvil that the Seer has put her faith in? My name is Zesyyr… only daughter and sole surviving heir to Matron Myrune of House Mae'Viir. I was hoping you would come and see me."

I raised a brow but forced myself to say nothing.

"I have an offer for you," she drew her attention back to the water, kicking her feet gently through the pool's unknown depths. "It would have drawn too much attention if I had sent someone to fetch you. How fortunate that you have found yourself here. And here so soon…"

"Can't have your mother know we're meeting," I nodded in understanding. "What would she think?"

I felt Nathyrra stiffen beside me.

At my words, Zesyyr threw her head back in sudden laughter, a light sound so out of place in the quiet room. Nobody turned to watch, confirming my suspicion that these were  _her_  people. Her mother had already begun to lose control.

"Our house has fallen on hard times. My mother has brought us to the brink of destruction," she explained. "Many believe it is time for a change. Many believe  _I_ should lead." She turned her head back to watch for my reaction, her eyes narrowed and white eyebrow raised in challenge. "Of course, my mother is no fool. She understands the danger I represent, which is why she has banished me from her tower. She believes she is safe behind her high walls." Another smile.

Nathyrra stepped forward, disgust clear on her delicate features. "Obviously she isn't as safe as she believes." She paused, glancing at me briefly before turning her full attention to the conspiring daughter. "I know this is how we were brought up, but there is another path you can take. One that isn't fraught with betrayal and death. Eilistraee can—"

Zesyyr's face was as hard as the stone around us. "Don't throw your god in my face! We can't all run away to the surface; some of us have to survive in our homeland. And that means plotting to ensure our future." Her eyes snapped back to me, feral in the dim purple light. "I have more support in this than she knows. All I need to complete my coup is an assassin powerful enough to kill her and her bodyguards."

I shifted my feet, returning the challenge in her gaze with as much confidence as I could muster.

Valen shook his head in disgust. "These are the kinds of allies we are counting on to stand with us against the Valsharess?" I felt him watching me carefully.

I clenched my fists.  _This is the right choice._ I silently reminded myself in response to Nathyrra and Valen's open disgust.

"Do not listen to their delusional ideals, rivvil. Not until you hear the entire story," Zesyyr admonished, rolling her eyes lazily in my direction.

She pulled her legs from the water, ebony skin glistening as she stood to her full height. She took a step towards me, pausing a few feet from us only when Valen's hand shifted to his flail's pommel.

She raised a perfectly curved brow. "I know my mother," she purred. "She does not believe that we can defeat the Valsharess, and she is  _afraid_. Do you really believe she will fight by the Seer's side when the Valsharess attacks?" She cut an arm through the air, shaking her head. "She will betray you the first chance she gets."

"And you?" I pressed.

She smiled. "I actually believe we can defeat the Valsharess. I will not turn my back on my allies at the first sign of trouble."

_But possibly the second sign of trouble…_

"And why should I believe someone who is willing to have their own mother killed?" I already knew what I was going to do — I'd known what the right choice was from the beginning — but I'd found myself unwilling to let myself be seen by Valen and Nathyrra as cold.

Her grin widened, showing her perfect white teeth. She knew she had me. "My mother has lost all of her ambition; she would rather serve than die." She held a hand to her chest, bracelets jingling. "I have not. I will not bow so easily to our common enemy. Not when there is…" she floundered for the right word, before settling on; "hope."

We stared at each other for a beat.

"What do I need to do?" I finally asked.

* * *

**THEN**

We stared at each other for a beat.

The young woman looked like she'd come straight out of Robin Hood, sans the bright green tights. A large bird — An eagle? A hawk? — jumped from her forearm and took flight with one, two flaps of its giant wings.

I couldn't help but flinch away from the powerful creature, seconds too late to have done any good if it meant me harm. It was already a speck in the far-reaching sky, it's shrill screeching barely audible over the wind.

"Ho there," the young woman called to me, with a lifted hand.

She gave an easy smile, her tanned skin creasing around her eyes. Her raised hand and wrist were wrapped in a linen binding.

I released a relieved breath, stopping in my tracks.

We quietly took each other in.

_She's a LARPer,_  I realised with sudden clarity, as I saw the array of ye olde weapons that adorn the young woman.

"I'm Jane," I eventually said, reaching out a hand.

I could feel my cheeks growing red at how stupid I sounded introducing myself in the middle of nowhere. With bare feet. To a LARPer.

"Emma," she replied, reaching forward and clasping my wrist. I patted her wrist awkwardly with my free hand, not expecting the unusual gesture.

She drew back and rested her hand casually on the hilt of one of the knives on her waist. She watched me silently.

_She's gone to a fair bit of effort._ I begrudgingly admired the details on the other woman's — Emma's — outfit.

Her pants were soft green cotton, thick brown stitching trailing down the outer sides. About mid-calf they tucked into the tops of her large brown boots, bits of grey and black fur peeking out from the tops. Leather straps wrapped around her ankle and heel, seemingly holding everything snug and in place. I couldn't see where the zips were hidden on them, not for lack of trying.

_They look warm_ , I thought with a pang of jealousy as I wiggled some feeling back into my bare toes.

Up top, she wore a dark green leather vest over a cream cotton shirt, a crisscross of lacing down the front. It wasn't shiny pleather like my black party pants back at home — no; this was the real deal. Over the top of all of this was the most impressive part; a large green cloak, twisting into a knot at one side, as it blew about in the strong winds. Short brown feathers were stitched decoratively into the shoulders, and the wooden toggles all looked hand-made.

She was around my age — maybe younger. Somewhere in her early to mid-twenties.

She looked… ridiculous.

I chuckled and buried my face in a hand at the absurdity of it all.

Once I'd regained myself, I looked back up at Emma. She watched me with a small frown, friendly smile fading.

"Look, this is — well, I seem to be a bit… lost?" I admitted with a shrug and a self-deprecating smile. "Could you point me towards the nearest station?" At Emma's blank look I pushed on — less confident. I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and waved it in front of my face in a show of looking for reception. "Or could I borrow your phone? I don't seem to have any bars."

The other woman's smile seemed to freeze in place, her frown deepening.

"Lost, you say?" She shifted her weight, throwing her head over her right shoulder casually. "Nearest supply station is Silverymoon; about a day's walk — just came from there, myself." She eyed me up and down openly — from my raised eyebrow to my bare feet. "Was that where you were heading before you got turned around?" She dropped the smile and tilted her head in question.

_What?_

"Is this like a roleplaying thing you're doing?" I pressed after a moment of deliberation. "Is that what's happening?" I shook my head roughly, "Look, it's — it's fine; don't worry about it. Thanks anyways…" I trailed off uncomfortably, hoping she would feel silly and offer up some actual directions.

Giving up, I turned away from her and unlocked my phone again, pressing the emergency call button with a silly jolt of adrenaline. Before the phone was even flush with my ear I could hear the engaged noise. I hung up with a frown. I gave it a moment and then tried again with the same result.

The third time was not the charm.

With a sigh, I squared my shoulders and turned back at the other woman.

She watched with a curious tilt to her head and a wry smile on her lips.

"Look, I need to get home," I managed from between clenched teeth, "and my phone's not working."  _And you've really been no help, at all._  "Can you point me to someone that will help, or, or — just the nearest road?"

Emma pointed back in the direction she had come from, "Silverymoon Pass' road is just over that hill."

I started walking past her and in that direction.

"Thanks again," I offered over my shoulder, eyes ahead.

_Silverymoon Pass_ —  _Never heard of it._  I pondered this as I braved the incline for the next minute, hand firmly pressed over my stitch.  _God, that cool air really does a number on your lungs._

More treetops popped up from behind the hill.

I can hear Emma —  _crazy LARPing Emma_  — following along a few feet behind me.

"I'm heading to Hilltop, myself," Emma piped up, too-cheerfully, from behind.

_Hilltop…_

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the 'road'. To call it a dirt track would still be a stretch.

The road was really just a noticeable  _lack_ of greenery, with a light scattering of stones. It wound its way around the edge of a forest. Eventually, it disappeared into the tree-line to my right, and wound out of sight, to my left.

Emma stopped just behind my right shoulder, motioning with her chin to our right. "Weather permitting, should be there in two days, maybe three if I keep getting distracted like I have been." She chuckled. "Really lost track of time in Silverymoon — I've never seen such a big city before. Thank the Gods I never wrote Drogan an exact date for my arrival."

_Drogan…_

I wrapped my arms around myself again, feeling each individual goosebump like a pinprick working its way into my bones.

There was some shuffling, and then Emma suddenly placed her big stupid cloak around my shoulders. She gave my shoulder a silent pat once it was in place, and — without another word — started down the hill.

Her big puffy sleeves looked ridiculous on her slight frame, blowing in the gentle breeze.

She angled right, towards the winding road.

I stared momentarily at her retreating back, and couldn't help but grab the edges of the cloak, pulling it around myself more tightly. I already felt the better for it.

For lack of anything else to do, I trailed after the crazy young woman.

Emma waited for me on the path.

As I approached, she kicked up a long narrow branch with practiced ease. She caught it in a one-handed grip with a cheeky grin. It was almost as tall as her.

She offered it silently to me, an expectant look on her face.

_I guess I was following her…_

Emma nodded in approval when I took the offered stick.

I let one end drop to the path with a dull thud.

Without any further ado, she pulled her pack higher onto her back and started walking. She watched me calmly over her shoulder, observing my approach as I hurried to walk by her side.

"So," she started. "Where on Faerun did you come from, dressed like  _that_." She motioned me up and down with amazement. "And more importantly — how have your feet not dropped off?"

I clasped the stick in my hand like a walking staff, my knuckles almost as white as my face must have been. I blinked back at the strange woman.

_Faerun…_

Breathing through an exasperated sigh, I suddenly realised why those names were so familiar.

With a hissed curse and no further information, I followed Emma towards Hilltop.

_Goddam bloody crazy shittin' LARPers!_

I'd play along with her live D&D game until we got to 'Hilltop'. Then, I'd find a phone or a computer and figure out where the hell I was.

All I hoped was that her 'three days' was more like 'three hours'.

* * *

**NOTEBOOK EXTRACT**

_A double page of Jane's messy handwriting underneath a crudely drawn map of the drow city Lith My'athar. Icons mark buildings of note._

Lith My'athar. Northern drow territory. Ruled by House Mae'Viir.

A little over a hundred residents. Mainly drow, mainly male. A couple of half-drow/half-human and deep gnomes - treated as second class citizens.

**Temple of Lolth**

Residents: the Seer - drow cleric (priestess of Eilistraee), Valen Shadowbreath - tiefling fighter and weapons master (heavy flail), Nathyrra - drow wizard, rogue and assassin, a handful of female drow (4?)

Regulars: Imloth - drow fighter (commander of the Seer's followers), a handful of male drow soldiers

Places of note: Main chamber, (lots of damaged statues), the Seer's quarters (locked), Valen's quarters (locked), Nathyrra's quarters (locked), my quarters (bed, basin, chest, tomb in common titled 'Northern Cities of Note'), spare room (unlocked, nothing of worth), library (shelves are empty, large brazier with ash), two bedrooms with four bunks each room (locked chests)

Misc: Repurposed to be a temple to Eilistraee. I think the layout is supposed to represent a spider, with the hallways coming off the main chamber representing legs… who knew there was such a thing as an evil architect?

**House Mae'Viir's Public House**

Residents: Zesyyr Mae'Viir -  _this is crossed out_ , male half-drow/half-human bartender

Regulars: Some followers of Eilistraee, mainly the city's original residents - all drow

Places of note: Bar (doesn't serve food to non-residents, does serve drinks)

Misc: Deep Abyssal Ale (3sp/jug), Mushroom tea (2sp/pitcher) - disgusting, barrelstalk gin (3sp/shot) - burns but non-offensive, violet mushroom liqueur (5sp/shot) - Nathyrra's favourite, Hivemind Twist cocktail (8sp) - looks… interesting

**House Mae'Viir**

Residents: Matron Myrune -  _this is crossed out,_ Captain Tebimar -  _this is also crossed out,_ Zesyyr Mae'Viir (new matron)

Regulars: Mae'Viir army (42 male drow soldiers, 2 male drow wizards, and 3 female drow priestesses of Lolth - according to Valen's census)

**Lith My'athar's Public House**

Residents: Matron Mother Brizafae (refugee, bitter. Nathyrra has 'people' keeping an eye on her, currently not a threat), 4 of Brizafae's male guards, Rizolvir, over 20 permanent drow tenants

Regulars: An equal split between followers of Eilistraee and the city's original residents - mainly drow, some deep gnomes (svirfneblin?)

Places of note: Bar (serves standard drinks and food), bath house (need to find some time to go), guests rooms (locked)

Misc: Rothe pies (3sp) - delicious, mosscakes (1sp/3 cakes) - Nathyrra said they keep for up to a week, sporebread (2sp)

**Ale Gardens**

Regulars: Imloth's soldiers and deep gnome waiters (saved one from drow who were plying him with too much Azure Wine)

Misc: Ale (2sp/jug) - looks like a normal pale ale, barrelstalk gin (3sp/shot), firelichen brandy (5sp/shot), Azure Wine (7sp/bottle) - Valen warned it causes hallucinations

**The Forge and Armoury**

_This area is circled_

Regulars: Rizolvir, male drow apprentice

Misc: 50,000gp to upgrade a weapon! What a rort

**Market**

_This area is circled_

Regulars: 2 disgruntled merchants selling food, Gulhrys (wizard)

**Docks**

Regulars: Cavallas the Boatman (big hooded cloak, glowing yellow eyes and skeletal hands), Boat (isn't tethered to the dock - is there such thing as a sentient boat?)

Misc: Valen said we can travel to the Mysterious Island (cursed winged elves and Mirror of All Seeing) or the Isle of the Maker (Potential golem allies - too tough)

**Training Grounds**

Regulars: Imloth, regular mix of all male soldiers

Misc: Looks like some of the soldiers camp there

**Mae'Viir Training Grounds**

Regulars: Mae'Viir Sergeant (doesn't like Imloth), regular mix of mainly male soldiers

**Deep Rothe Pens**

**West Exit**

Misc: Beholders, mind flayers and undead, oh my!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

**NOW**

Getting into the tower was the easy part. I'd flashed Zesyyr's signet ring to her waiting guards — my only answer a hushed "she's ready to move?" — and stepped right in, Valen and Nathyrra at my back.

Waiting for the current Matron and her loyal guardsmen to be summoned was harder; skin itching for the impending fight. Drow guards lined the walls of the room, and I wondered if they would join the fray or watch it pan out. Their eyes darted between the three of us. They were probably wondering the very same thing.

I would need to make this quick.

Matron Myrune, her hair yellowed from age, and a single guard, Captain Tebimar — based on the giant scythe he bore — marched into the room. The woman's face was tight and scornful as she took us in. She turned to the large drow beside her.

"Who is this surfacer, Tebimar. Why did your guards let her in?"

She tilted her head, eyes calculating as she took me in.

I stepped forward calmly — and stabbed her in the chest.

Then?

Utter. Fucking. Chaos.

I abandoned the blade and pivoted to the side. A flash of silver as the scythe's blade fell.

_Missed._

I backed away, mindful of the guards all around.

None of them moved.

Valen charged to intercept another slash of the scythe, letting out an animalistic roar.

Nathyrra rushed to position herself at the Captain's flank, short sword in hand.

I hissed a curse at my lack of forethought; I didn't have my quiver of arrows.

Valen swung. The Captain raised his scythe above his head, catching the chain of Valen's flail and diverting his attack.

Nathyrra screamed with the force of her quick attack, as she slashed at his unprotected back. Her sword caught in his armour and the full force of the hit was diverted. The Captain didn't flinch.

I drew a knife.

Valen tugged his flail back with a snarl, unhooking the chain and almost tearing the scythe free of the Captain's desperate grip.

I heard Enserric shout out for blood and blocked the magical longsword from my mind. There was no way I was going to get through the Captain's defenses in close quarters with that beast of a weapon in his hand.

I attempted to line up a shot with my knife.

"Shit," I hissed.

Valen's back blocked most of my view.

I risked a glance at the guards. They all stared straight ahead, weapons undrawn for now. I knew how quickly their loyalty could waver.

Valen raised his flail again, but the chain slackened as he lost momentum. He roared as the Captain cut deep into his underarm, bypassing the tiefling's emerald armour with practiced ease.

I saw the blood instantly.

I held my knife in a white-knuckled grip, shifting my weight from foot to foot.  _Don't risk it; don't go running in._

Nathyrra used the opportunity the slice through the back of the Captain's knees with her sword in one slash. With a snarl, she flicked the blade into a defensive position, blood flying. She jumped back into the room's shadows.

The Captain dropped his huge weapon, falling forward onto his knees, whites all around his red iris'.

I bounced on the balls of my feet.

My stomach flipped as Valen raised a hand to his side, stemming the rapid flow of blood. His flail hit the stone floor with a solid  _thud._

The Captain snarled, eyes flashing red as he reached for his belt. He curled his finger around the pommel of a dagger. The blade glowed with green acidic magic.

_Shit_.

I darted towards the kneeling drow.

When my knife cut through his throat, it met no resistance.

Unused to such close fighting, my heart skipped a beat.  _A clean cut, or a near miss?_

My back was exposed.

I spun.

The Captain was dead before he hit the ground, Valen's flail near the drow's splayed arm.

Blood from the drow's throat had already begun pooling around his head like a macabre halo.

The guards, silent sentries since we'd entered the room, sprang to life all around us.

The unarmed tiefling turned sluggishly at the commotion. He held a bloodied hand to his side, backing up against Nathyrra. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl.

I drew another knife, counting heads.

Thankfully, the guards paid no attention to us, leaving the room in an eerily orderly fashion.

A moment, and it was all over. The three of us were alone with the slain Matron Mother and her loyal Captain.

Valen, hand still stemming the flow of blood, swayed unsteadily.

Nathyrra turned and steadied him with a hand on his lower arm, brows downturned in concern. She helped him to the edge of the room, where he could lean his full weight against the wall.

"He needs healing," she stated plainly, face a calm mask. "The Seer can help him."

I dropped my pack to the floor and pulled out my herbal kit, bypassing the healing potions.  _Too valuable, we'll use them when we're desperate._ I glanced up; the Captain's scythe didn't look magically enhanced. I lent towards it, checking the blade for poison.  _Nothing._

Nathyrra raised an eyebrow at my actions.

"Do you plan on carrying him down the stairs?" I pressed. "We'll need to stabilise him if we're going to get him to the Seer."

I carried the kit to Valen's side, easing him to the ground with Nathyrra's assistance. I unwound the bundle with practiced ease. He lent his head back against the wall with a deep controlled breath, eyes closed and sweat beading on his forehead.

"Valen," I started gently. He lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgment. "I'm going to need you to remove your hand."

I started at the heat radiating from his fingers, as I gently pried his hand away from the wound. I immediately replaced the pressure with a cloth, wedging it in the narrow gap between his underarm and his armour.

The Captain had been skilled, to exploit this weakness so quickly.

"Hold this," I instructed Nathyrra.

She quickly replaced me, applying pressure to the wound. She kept a curious eye on my kit as I went about grabbing all of the appropriate ingredients, grinding them into a rough healing paste, which I slathered onto a fresh pad.

Ready, I replaced her hand and inspected the wound quickly. More blood ebbed out at the removal of pressure. I wedged the pad in place.

Valen hissed, opening a cloudy blue eye. We held each other's gaze for a moment before he turned his head back to the ceiling with a grimace.

"Sorry," I offered, hands still on the cloth.

"A little more warning next time," Valen uttered to the ceiling through gritted teeth. "Especially if I'm to take the brunt of every fight." Irritation dripped from every word.

The paste was working quickly, each of Valen's words gaining strength.

"Can't let that killer flail go to waste," I joked, biting my lip at his assessment of the fight.

He hummed in reply, tilting his head back and opening his — now clear — blue eyes. He assessed the room with a critical eye. Nathyrra waited with her back to us, facing the door.

I hadn't made a good impression; rushing in and then letting them both deal with the chaos as I waited from the sidelines.

_It will be better once we're in a more open area and I have my arrows._ I bit my lip harder.

Valen's much warmer fingers shocked me out of my musings, replacing my hand on the cloth carefully. He nodded in what I think was thanks, and then slowly edged himself up to the wall.

In silence, we gathered our discarded belongings, and the massive Scythe — likely to fetch a good price. Using it as a crutch, with one of us on each side, Valen was already gaining strength. With a nod of thanks, we left the dead drow in the tower and made our way to report to the Seer, side by side.

* * *

**THEN**

It turned out that Emma's estimate of 'three days' walk wasn't 'more like three hours', as I'd hoped.

It didn't take long for me to start falling behind. Really far behind. I was becoming impossibly grateful for the tall walking stick she had offered me earlier. It was helping keep the bulk of my weight off my sore, bare feet.

But it could only work so well.

Emma would walk ahead, seemingly unhindered by the cold winds, and then — just as she would be about to disappear from my sight completely — she would pause to examine some low-hanging tree branch or overgrown ground cover. Sometimes she'd pull a notebook out of her pack and quickly assess a page, occasionally pausing long enough to sketch something within. But she only ever paused long enough for me to almost catch up, and then she would start her merciless pace all over again.

Each time it took me a little bit longer to catch up, and the growing reliance I was having on the walking stick wasn't easy to hide.

As the sun started its slow descent, a couple of hours and half of my remaining battery life later, I stopped with a hissed curse. I lent a hand against a tree trunk by the path, bark catching on my skin. Suddenly angry — at the walking, at the pain, at the situation — I tossed the stick aside with a huff.

Once I'd caught my breath, I tilted the heel of a foot up for examination.

_Yuck…_

As expected, my skin was blistered and red, fresh flesh peeking out from amongst the dirt. I gently rubbed aside some small pebbles with the back of my fingers, hissing in pain. They caught in my raw skin and came away with fresh trails of blood. I stared at my foot with a frown, not sure if I could continue walking like this.

_Looks worse than the morning after wearing new high-heels..._

I heard Emma approaching before I saw her. "Sit down and let me have a look," she admonished, no room for argument.

"I hope you have one hell of a Band-Aid," I managed to use an even tone.

Resting the heel of my foot carefully back on the path, I used the support of the tree trunk to lower myself to the ground. I closed the distance faster than anticipated, and my arse hit the ground with an in-elegant thump.

I stretched my legs out in front of me with a groan, my muscles aching from all the walking. I hit the back of my head against the tree to distract from the sudden sting of the breeze on the raw skin of my feet.

Emma squatted down in one fluid movement — no bones popping in protest, I noted with an admittedly petty sneer — in front of my feet. There was a small frown on her face.

She placed her pack on the ground beside her and undid the knots holding it all in place. She soon found what she was after; a rolled up leather bundle, held together by some string. She placed it by her side.

Next, she pulled out a small timber bowl — small enough to hold in one palm. Resting in it was what appeared to be a crudely crafted timber pestle. This went on the path by her side, too.

_Well, I'll be damned_ —  _my curiosity was peaked._

With dextrous fingers she untied the leather bundle, unrolling it flat in front of her and revealing the items within. There were some thin glass vials with cork-like stoppers, held in place by thongs of woven leather. Below them were thick pouches, held shut by a coiled string. There were some clippers and a timber pair of tweezers, too — slotted carefully into the leather.

Most of the thin vials were empty, but some contained bright pops of colour.

It was one of the green-filled vials that Emma pulled out now. She uncorked it and — using the tweezers — carefully removed the contents.

She lowered the spongy mass of lime green moss into the small wooden bowl. Next was a vial I'd initially thought empty; filled with what appeared to be water.

This was getting ridiculous. I needed a bandage and a car. Not a Harry Potter potion's kit.

"Woundbind poultice," she explained matter-of-factly — as if it wasn't just a made up jumble of sounds — as she poured the water into the bowl with the moss.

"I really don't need your hippy-dippy poultice, honestly," I insisted.

I bit my tongue and watched her face for insult. It was getting late and we hadn't passed a single other person on the walking track — so I couldn't risk her leaving me because I'd let my anger get the better of me.

I closed my eyes and breathed through my frustration. And my pain.

When I'd calmed enough to open my eyes again, I instantly noticed her lips quirked up in a small smirk.

She replaced both vials with practiced ease, and then placed the — apparently absorbent — moss into the water. Pretty soon it began forming a fibrous paste.

Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed a pinch of something from one of the pouches and ground that in too.

"Honestly," I insisted. "I really don't need your seven secret herbs and spices. Give me five and I'll be ready to go again."

"Rubbish," She replied, waving a free hand.

I suddenly felt like a child being chastised by her mother.

Well, at least her concoction couldn't make it any worse.

Seemingly happy with the outcome of the green slop, she placed the bowl on the path beside her and began rummaging through her pack again. A few seconds later she seemed to give up, pursing her lips. I jolted when she clicked her fingers at me, as a thought suddenly occurred to her. She began unwinding the binding on her right arm, a small smile on her lips.

Once it was free, she tore it in two with her front teeth, laying it out carefully in two long lengths. Using the pestle, she nudged the green sponge-y mess onto one length of cotton, and then the other, covering as much of the makeshift bandage as possible.

I rolled when she grabbed my ankle with long strong fingers, and then pressed the sticky side of the bandage into the bottom of my foot.

_Holyfuckingshit_ —  _It stung!_

My eyes shot open, and I tried to pull my foot away from her in surprise. She held my ankle firmly in place, obviously anticipating my reaction.

"Shit," I shouted. I forced my voice into a more reasonable volume, the shock of the pain already subsiding. "What was  _in_  that?" If the sting was anything to go by, the water was almost definitely vodka.

"Tanglemoss," she stated matter of factly, as she began carefully binding my foot and ankle. "Dried bloodstaunch and water."

"Okay…"  _Pick your battles._  I peeked at her leather kit. "Got any paracetamol in there?" I pressed, already knowing the answer. "I'm fine with home-brand, honestly."

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing — carefully placing my wrapped foot on the ground, immediately starting on the other.

I was ready this time, and only hissed when she started wrapping my other foot.

She gave a curt nod once they were both in place, before standing with hands on her hips — seemingly admiring her work.

Then, she started unbinding her shoes.

"Oh," I started, shocked. "You really don't have to do that. This should help. Really." I nodded to my bound feet.

_God, some warm shoes would be nice though…_

She frowned for a moment, before looking between her feet and my own. Then, realisation seemed to dawn on her, and she chuckled warmly. She kicked off a boot, revealing a thick knitted grey sock.

"Oh no," she said through a chuckle. "You're not getting my boots." She shook her head again. "But I've got to protect my good work, somehow." She gave me a wink, green eyes sparkling.

She kicked off her other shoe before sliding her socks off and passing them to me.

Grateful, I carefully pulled them over the bandages, suddenly feeling very silly — even when she was the one that wouldn't let up this damn roleplaying persona. The unfamiliar feeling of being the butt of a joke I hadn't instigated quickly passed. Her shoes were already snug and rebound once I was ready.

She passed me my fallen walking staff without comment and then, with one hand in hers, and one on the stick; I pulled myself to my feet.

I tested them out, and with some surprise found that the brunt of the stinging was already gone. With reluctant appreciation, I realised that the extra padding from the socks went a long way to protect the sensitive soles from the uneven path.

I motioned ahead with a raised eyebrow, and then we started walking again. For another three hours. In total silence. I was in hell.

This thought brought a wry smirk to my lips.  _I wonder if they've created a Cania, to roleplay Hordes of the Underdark. Snow-machine and all…_

I chuckled as I pictured fully grown men in Devil's onesies.

My thoughts drifted along that path for the remainder of our silent trek.

Only once the sky started changing colour did she slow and turn to me. I caught up to her, a careful hobble to each of my steps.

She tilted her head to the side, motioning off the path, and then disappeared amongst the pine-like trees.

_I guess we're camping in the woods. With all of the bugs and spiders._

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

_At least it seems to be too cold for snakes to be out and about. I think…_

I shivered — for once, not due to the crisp evening air —vearing off the path where the trees allowed me to walk without brushing against too many low hanging branches.

I was careful of my lightly covered feet, dry twigs snapping underfoot. Branches snagged on my borrowed cloak, hindering my progression, and I glared at Emma's back at her apparent ease. I took solace in the fact that her silent pace was finally one I could match. Apparently, just with less grace.

And far more swearing.

About ten minutes from the road, Emma stopped — turning in a full circle before catching my eye with a smile. She nodded her head, before placing her pack carefully against the trunk of a tree.

_Definitely less space than I'd usually claim for a campsite, but she seems confident enough…_

She hadn't chosen a clearing or a grassy section. There was no stream or markers — I honestly couldn't identify what it was about this area that had made her decide on it.

Birds jumped from tree to tree, high above us — singing of the approaching night. The hawk from earlier — a constant dot in the sky as we'd walked through the day — was nowhere to be seen.

Curiosity got the better of me.

"So," I leaned against a tree trunk, looking up at what little of the darkening sky I can see through the ancient tree-tops. "Why here?"

She smiled, pointing an index finger to the sky — and tilting her head as if to say listen.

I did. I couldn't hear anything over the birds.

She smiled at my shrug.

"The birds seem to believe this is a safe spot to sleep — and they see more than we can," she explained. "No predators in the area."

_And here I'd been worried about spiders and snakes. What predators did we have to worry about?_

"Okay," I nodded as if it was a completely obvious concern. "Cool, cool, cool." I rubbed a hand up and down my arm, fighting off the goosebumps.

She offered me one final glance, before squatting before her bag. "Did you want to grab some kindling and branches for the fire, whilst I set us up for the night?" she queried. She remained focused on a large roll of material attached to the base of her pack.

"Easy," I replied quickly, propping my walking stick against the tree. "That I can do."

It didn't take long to find dry kindling on the ground — all within eyesight of our impromptu campsite, thankfully — I didn't trust my sense of direction enough to find my way back.

Each trip in, with a new branch in tow, Emma seemed to have completed another task. A space cleared of all flammables for the fire. A slight ditch dug out with a heel, with my kindling teepeed in place. One single bedroll carefully placed a meter away from our designated fire-spot — the top cover of the bedroll propped up by a branch and held in place by a length of rope tied to a nearby tree.

No tent.

With a sigh of defeat, I dropped the last branch — a big one I'd dragged behind me, almost a meter long — by Emma's side. She sat by the kindling, her legs crossed — unfastening a small leather pouch.

I observed the bedroll with a raised eyebrow, taking in the thin canvas with concern. There was a slightly oily sheen to it — perhaps it was waterproof. Definitely not warm, though.

I don't know what I'd been expecting; her pack obviously wasn't big enough for an entire tent.

Emma seemed to sense my discomfort and chuckled. "Jane, go ahead and bunk in there until we part ways at Hilltop. I don't mind," she insisted. "I've been spoilt the last week in Silverymoon — rented a room for the entire week!" She smiled wistfully. "The beds were the softest I've ever been in." She shrugged. "But time to get back to the basics."

She seemed as if she was about to say something more and then shook her head, thinking the better of it. Instead, she motioned for me to come closer with her free hand. I knelt on the ground, and then — in a very unladylike manner, plonked down into a comfortable sit.

"Have you ever seen one of these?" She asked, opening the contents of yet another leather pouch.

I frowned, not sure what to make of the mismatched items. There was a small metal object — shaped almost like a squashed horseshoe, two angled bits of grey rock, and a small pile of dirty-looking black cloth. I shook my head.

"It's flint and steel," she explained, with a smile. "Something else I've been spoilt with, after my trip to Silverymoon." She chuckled. "All the locals swear by them," she shook her head. "Bit lazy, if you ask me. But after all the trouble I've been having with all this damp timber, I'm happy I indulged."

I'd read about these, but never seen them before. I mean, any sane person would just pack a lighter or a creme brulee-style blowtorch. But I shouldn't be surprised by Emma, by now.

"Want to see?" She pressed excitement at showing off her new toy clear on her face.

With some surprise, I found I actually was a little curious and silently observed as she pulled a small piece of the black cloth free, placing it on top of the grey rock. Then, she picked up the steel horseshoe and hit it in a downward angle against the flint.

Once, twice.

Sparks flew the second time and she went to gently blow on the black material. It sprung to life, glowing a bright orange. She carefully placed it below her teepee of kindling, shifting a few small sticks over the top.

It didn't take long before the smaller slivers of timber caught alight.

"That's actually pretty cool," I admitted.

For the remainder of the evening, we didn't speak much. I sat on the bedroll, the covers pulled up over my legs, staring into the flames. Emma was propped up — somehow managing to look comfortable — against a nearby tree. She was cleaning under her nails with the end of a knife.

Once night fell — and the birds were finally silent and asleep — Emma tossed me a few strips of dried meat and a small piece of flatbread. I gave the meat a sniff and then took a few tentative bites. A few nibbles in, and no closer to identifying the meat, I realised I was famished and devoured the rest — to Emma's apparent amusement.

"Got dessert?" I joked once it was gone and Emma was done with hers.

She reached into a pocket and carefully tossed me something small and round. I managed to catch it in an open palm and carefully held the small green ball between index finger and thumb, giving it a once over. It was some kind of fruit; that much was obvious.

I looked past it to Emma, raising an eyebrow in question. She threw one in the air and effortlessly caught it in her mouth. She gave a few chews, smiled at me, and then repeated the process.

With a shrug, I gave it a go.

I smiled as I crunched into it. It was like a thick-skinned grape, but just as sweet and juicy on the inside. It was the first nice thing I'd experienced since I'd woken up this morning. I savoured the taste of it, but it was gone too quickly.

She threw me another.

It was still fairly early when I curled up in the bedroll with a simple good night to the other woman. I gave the emergency services a final go on my mobile, turned my morning alarm on — just in case it made it through the night on power saving mode — and pulled the bedroll cover up to my chin.

I didn't plan on falling asleep straight away. I didn't even remember having fallen asleep, but I must have because next thing I knew there was a hand over my mouth.

I opened my eyes with a start and tried to pull away — only to find that my legs were trapped. I was tangled in my bedding, and my shout only came out low and muffled.

I froze. "Hush," a voice whispered gently by my ear.

* * *

**NOTEBOOK EXTRACT**

_The neat handwriting of Emma takes up half a page._

**Woundbind Poultice**

Benefit: Will staunch bleeding, cleanse wounds and dull pain. If bound over a wound, promotes quick healing.

Expires: 24 hours, keep fresh ingredients on hand

Ingredients: Cloth, 1 part purified water, 2 parts fresh tanglemoss, 1 part dried bloodstaunch.

**Bottle of Bravery**

Benefit: Reduced fear

Expires: NA

Ingredients: Asarabacca root steeped in urine (the more powerful the urine's owner, the less fear the user will experience)

Duration: 1 hour

**Sky-top Salve**

Benefit: Clears infections

Expires: 24 hours, keep dried ingredients on hand

Ingredients: Cloth, 2 parts dried and ground sky-top mushroom, 1 part purified water


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**NOW**

"He certainly doesn't waste any time, does he?" The Seer whispered gently by my side. There was a hint of a smile in her surprisingly playful tone.

The Seer had approached with Nathyrra in tow, sidling up beside me with an off-putting familiarity.

Nathyrra continued past us without a word in my direction. She approached Commander Imloth, who was observing the troops. She sidled up to him with a friendly nudge to his ribs as she said something with a gentle smile.

Valen sparred with two of the drow soldiers, his usual heavy flail replaced by a wooden replica held together by thick rope. His stance gave no hint to his earlier injury, healed fully by the Seer and her goddess.

He wore his usual emerald armour, cleaned of all evidence of his wound, red hair pulled away from his stern face. He spun away from an attacking wooden sword, moving with a speed that shouldn't have been possible, encumbered in heavy armour as he was. With a bestial snarl, he kicked the attacker square in the chest. As the drow fell back without a sound, another soldier immediately ran in to replace him.

' _I'd love to see the Demon-Blooded Man and Daelan go blow-for-blow,'_ Enserric hummed in my head.

I felt the Seer watching me.

My stomach clenched uncomfortably before I spoke next.

"I hope you know I only did what I thought was right," I found myself saying.

I saw her slight nod in my peripheral.

Valen swung his flail and another drow hit the floor. This one required assistance to stand again, before being led away by a companion.

"It saddens me that we're still turning to our baser nature," she sighed. "But time will tell if you made the right choice."

_Would Valen and Nathyrra forgive me?_

_They did from memory, but my reception from both of them had been a chillier one than expected. And when I did things the wrong way, they didn't always pan out like the game… I thought I'd been careful this time…_

"I only hope Valen and Nathyrra can come to see it that way," I tilted my head in their direction.

"They will come to see who you are," she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. I froze at her touch.  _Was there more to what she was saying, or was I being paranoid?_ She smiled as if sensing the source of my discomfort. "We all wear masks. Just be wary, the time will come where you will remove it and tear away your own skin." Her tone wasn't warning, just matter-of-fact. "Do not leave it that long."

 _Shit. She definitely knows more_. She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before removing her hand.

I finally looked her in the eye, her features soft in a way the other drow's were not. She offered me a small warm smile, before leaving to attend to the soldier's felled by Valen's practice weapon.

Nathyrra watched me from Imloth's side, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

I shook off my discomfort before approaching my new companions with a wave and a smile I didn't feel.

Time to stop procrastinating. We had places to be.

And I wanted —  _needed_  — that damn mirror.

* * *

**THEN**

"Hush," a voice whispered gently by my ear.

Emma's voice.

I gave a show of calming down and went quiet — still tense and ready. My eyes darted around, taking everything in. It was still night — no sign of the rising sun — and everything was quiet. I could see the light shadows the trees cast by the dwindling fire.

She gently removed her hand from my mouth and released her steady hold on my shoulder.

I instantly pulled back my covers and rolled out of the bedding and stood — away from Emma.

I could hear my heart beating in my ears from the shock of being woken up so suddenly. And horribly.

She was still crouched beside my bed, one hand pressed against the trunk of a tree for balance. Her eyes were wide and her head was cocked slightly to the side, long brown hair pulled behind an ear.

Emma caught my questioning gaze and slowly stood up, placing a finger to her lips. With a start, I realised that she held a large knife in her right hand. I instinctively took another step away from her.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the sudden sharp call of a bird from overhead, and then our little campsite erupted into utter chaos.

Emma moved faster than I could follow, charging at me, knife aimed right at my chest.

She pushed me to the side with a shrill shout.

I felt the air rush out of me as I hit the ground; hip first. I rolled onto my back — clutching at my side in pain.

_She didn't stab you. You're fine. Get up!_

It took me a second longer to realise the roaring in my ears wasn't my heart beating — but something else entirely.

"Run!" Emma shrill shout of warning cut through everything else. There was real panic in her voice.

I pushed up off the ground into a kneeling position, chest heaving in ragged breaths.

Suddenly I understood what the roaring had come from.

It was something out of a nightmare. A green-scaled… thing, covered in long barbs.

In its huge clawed hand, the thing held Emma off the ground by her throat, her toes barely grazing the floor as she kicked frantically. The sharp claws where almost as long as my forearms. It towered above her, almost ten foot tall.

This wasn't another LARPer. It definitely wasn't a middle-aged man in a onesie. This thing was real.

Emma was struggling against it — her feet flailing and kicking against its chest — but her desperate efforts didn't seem to register with it.

A long barbed tail flicked out from behind the thing and encircled Emma's waist in a horrible hug. She screamed as the long barbs along the tail sunk easily into her sides.

I fell backwards, crawling on my back away from them and towards the darkness of the tree lining.

It tightened its grip on her, and Emma's screams died off suddenly, head lolling towards her chest. I heard the birds in the trees above us, calling out to each other as they escaped into the night.

I could just make out the dark patches of blood as they started soaking into her white shirt, where its tail held her waist. The thing laughed, a wet and deep chuckle that shook its wiry shoulders.

Still laughing, it lowered its face down to Emma's, its flat nose flaring as it breathed deeply. It pulled back its lips in a horrible snear, revealing rows of pointed teeth.

Emma's knife fell from her loose fingers and hit the ground with a soft thunk. The last of the fire's light showed me the gleam of something wet on it. She'd hurt it.

It didn't care.

Suddenly, the things fiery yellow eyes caught mine over Emma's shoulder. I realised I'd stopped. I gasped in a breath, frozen to the spot. I was unable to flee. Unable to defend myself. Totally useless.

Another shrill call of a bird and a blur of black swooped at the things head.

The horrible barbed monster waved its free arm disinterestedly as if shooing a fly. Seconds later, the giant bird came in for another sweep at the things head. This time the bird's talons latched onto the thing's scaled face, barbs and all.

The monster roared, and the bird gave a horrible cry of pain. With one, two frantic beats of its wings, it retreated back into the darkness above us.

The thing locked eyes with me again, dropping Emma's still body at its feet. She fell in a limp heap — completely still.

_This isn't happening._

I redoubled my efforts, dragging myself away from the horror before me — pushing through the paralysing fear that had overwhelmed me earlier. My arms shook under my weight.

The thing's eyes never left my own, as it stepped over Emma, towards me. The shadows played tricks, making the barbs that covered its body appear to shift and move.

I could see the gleam of blood on its claws. Emma's blood.

Suddenly, it was towering above me, blocking out the fire's dying light.

My back came flush with a tree and I stopped, heaving in a horrified sob.

It chuckled again — an evil sound that seemed to echo all around me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wincing as I pulled my back flush with the tree's bark — as far away from it as I could be. I turned my head away and felt the thing's warm breath on my cheek.

I grasped desperately at the ring on my necklace, rubbing the surface one final time.

_This isn't real. It's all a dream._

I felt the cold bark on my cheek and knew that I was wrong.

I waited for the pain to come, aware with sudden clarity that I was about to die.

I waited, but the pain didn't come. There was only the pounding of my heart and the steady puffs of the thing before me. I opened a tentative eye and froze.

It was right in front of me, bent down so we were face-to-face. Its giant yellow eyes narrowed and I smelt something rotten on it's breath. It reached out with a long arm, digging its claws into the tree right above my head.

I shrieked at its sudden movement, sharp and quick — before falling silent.

I couldn't see anything human in its eyes, but I could see a deeper intelligence than it's appearance hinted at — as its fiery yellow eyes took me in. As it considered me.

It gave me one final once over, and then with a deep huff, turned away — its tail whipping around behind it like an irate feral animal.

I still couldn't bring myself to stand up and run. So I watched. I waited.

_A trick?_

It waved a clawed arm, and the space in front of it seemed to warp and darken.

I could see the knife forgotten on the forest ground between us — stained black with its blood. I contemplated arming myself, but the thought was gone with the next horrible shake of my body.

The darkness in front of the thing grew until there was a disk of total blackness — as tall and wide as it was — right before it. The edges of the black disk seemed to glow yellow, sparks flying from the edges.

It stepped into the black disk, without another glance in my direction, and then it completely disappeared.

Its blood covered tail was the last thing I saw, before the black disk shrunk out of existence.

And then everything was silent.

I remained huddled against the tree, tears dripping silently from my chin, as I watched the empty space that the thing had occupied only moments before.

I waited for the group of laughing LARPers to come out of the tree line and tell me it was all a horrible joke.

I waited for my heart to stop pounding in my ears.

I waited for it to return and finish me off.

It didn't come back.

I don't know how long I watched the space for any sign of its return, breath halted between one and the next — jumping at every little sound as the forest slowly returned to life around me.

I finally jolted back into horrible stark awareness as my phone burst to life beside me in a flash of wonderful synthetic light.

I dove for the small device, only to see the alarm had gone off.

_Time to wake up._

I turned off the alarm, but everything around me remained.

The fire was long dead — a thin trail of smoke rising from the remaining coals — and the sky was a light grey by the time I heaved in a great sob and properly cried, letting my eyes fall on Emma's crumpled body. She was on her side, her back to me and her legs stretched out at uncomfortable angles.

She still hadn't moved from where she'd fallen. From where that monster had dropped her lifeless body.

With a pit in my stomach, I crawled slowly to her on shaking arms, watching for any sign of life — knowing already that I wouldn't find any.

"It's gone, Emma," I assured us both, my voice a hesitant whisper.

When I was by her side, I stopped with a hand hovering over her shoulder. I don't know what I was waiting for.

Holding my breath, I placed my hand on her shoulder and rolled her onto her back — she was heavier than she looked.

With a gasp, I pulled away when I saw her eyes. Sparkling and kind only yesterday — they were now glazed and unseeing, her face frozen in a look of pure fear.

Her dead eyes reflected the bird of prey as it circled above us, it's pain-filled cry carrying down through the trees and sending shivers up my spine.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_There's a full page taken up by a single illustration in Jane's more rushed style._

_It's a massive humanoid, hunched over with blood on its clawed hands. Barbs cover its entire body, bar its white stomach, and sharp teeth drip with saliva in a feral smile. Jane's gone to the effort of finding a yellow pencil to colour the eyes._

A devil?  _This theory i_ _s the only text on the page, scribbled at the bottom of the image._


	5. Chapter 5

**NOW**

The river was silent, an inky black pool of nothing that ebbed and flowed all around us.

The boatman was as silent as the water; his back facing us and his hand steady on the worn timber rudder of the boat.

Standing as far from Cavallas the Boatman as I could, I held the railing with both hands, watching for any change in scenery.

From the moment we had left Lith My'athar — maybe a bit over half an hour earlier — we had all taken our places and waited silently, retreating into our thoughts.

Jittery, I tapped the underside of my ring against the edge of the boat to the beat of Deekin's doom song.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

Valen was beside me, his pale skin and fiery red hair a stark contrast to the doom and gloom around us. His pale blue eyes were narrowed as he pondered the horizon, hands gently resting on the railing.

Nathyrra sat cross-legged in the middle of the boat, her body facing straight ahead to the pow. Her hands rested gently on her knees and her back was ramrod straight. Last I'd checked her eyes had been shut, her face set in a slack expression of restfulness.

I had insisted on this course of action, despite Nathyrra's opinion that we should instead focus our energy on weakening the Valsharesses' known allies, first.

Valen had been the one to mention the islands.

Journeying first to the 'mysterious island' was something I'd decided on a while ago, but now that we were on our way, I wasn't so sure…

_Doom, doom, doom, doom._

Better than the alternatives, I guess.

Deekin's repetitive song ran through my head on a loop and I tapped my ring louder to override the memory of the kobold bard's raspy voice.

My memory was a little fuzzy on the exact details of what I had to do — but I remembered the mirror's shards where our priority and Sabal's group of drow where dangerous. But then, what wasn't dangerous in the Underdark? Her Time Stop spell wasn't something I had faced before and was currently my biggest concern. Maybe I should have started with killing our way through the Beholder hive…

_That was if I could figure out how to get into it in real life._

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

I shook my head at the sudden circling of my thoughts. I'd gone over this enough times already. We needed the mirror.

 _I needed the mirror_ , I corrected myself.  _No point lying to myself._

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

Valen looked down at me, his frown deepening. He cleared his throat and then motioned to my tapping hand.

"Your ring," he started slowly. "The symbol looks…"

I stopped tapping — happy for the distraction — and held my hand up enthusiastically for display. "Symbolic?" I finished for him.

He raised an eyebrow. "I was going to say hierogrammatic."

I snorted, before waving a hand dismissively at his raised brow, before focusing again on my hand.

The silver band seemed shiny and new, despite the hardships it and I had faced. The carving of the silver hand, upright and facing away, was ever unchanging — palm out and fingers together. The area immediately surrounding the hand was a darker shade. Angry whorls — representative of wind, if Drogan was to be believed — were carved into the rest of the band.

"Apparently, it's the symbol for Shaundakul," I explained with a shrug.

The open confusion on his face bought a smile to my lips. My obvious lack of enthusiasm probably wasn't something he'd expected when talking about an openly showcased holy symbol.

"I must admit," he finally conceded. "I am curious about your beliefs. Many on your world," he motioned vaguely above our heads, "worship a God or Goddess. You are one of them?"

I pondered the weight of the ring for a moment.

"I acknowledge the existence of them," I finally settled on. Hard not to after the year I'd had. "Whether or not they deserve our worship?" I shrugged.

I tucked a strand of hair — blown loose by the gentle breeze carrying on the water — back behind my ear.

"I see." He turned back towards the water, resting comfortably against the railing. For a while it seemed like that was all he had to say.

Then; "I have seen my share of greater beings during my time in the Planes." Valen paused, watching for any sign of surprise from the corner of his eye. I waited for him to continue. "I know that there are many who have faded away or died… or even been killed at the hands of mortals."

I listened to his musing, as rocks started emerging in the darkness ahead — great looming cliff faces in the distance.

Valen took in their approach, straightening his posture. He rolled his shoulders and then shrugged, trying for nonchalant. "To me, this makes them too… familiar to honor in such a personal way, despite the power that I know they have to grant to others." He turned towards me, and his voice betrayed a hint of wistfulness. "I too am unconvinced. I suspect that this shall not change."

I nodded in agreement.

He motioned towards the ring once more, even as his eyes scanned the distant rocks with trained eyes. "So why adorn yourself with this God's symbol?"

I twisted the ring on my finger as I considered the question. Finally, I settled on: "It was a gift. Kind of." More likely a curse.

I made a show of trying to remove it, but — like always — it didn't budge. "And this is where it seems to want to stay." I dropped my hands and shrugged. "God's' work in mysterious ways."

"That we agree on," Valen said with a nod.

I toyed with my next question for only a moment. "So, does that mean you don't believe in the Seer's visions?"

He looked at me side on, the hint of a smile on his lips, as if he'd expected me to ask.

"I believe that the Seer has her visions." He shrugged. "I believe it may even be her goddess that sends them."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. I knew where this was going.

He was egging me on. Waiting to see what I would do — what I would say — when confronted face on.

He was scared.

"The Seer believes that you will lead us to victory," he continued, unfazed, "but nothing is said of what such a victory might cost." He looked at me pointedly. "Some costs, I think, are too high."

Despite knowing I was going to be met with open distrust, it still didn't soften the sting. It also didn't help that I suspected the Seer's visions had been of Emma, and not me. It was striking a little closer to home than I'd expected.

I worried at the inside of my lip. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning that the Seer assumes you are here to help us. I make no such assumptions. I have led her people through every danger and kept her safe, throughout." He held my gaze. "I won't see them betrayed."

I turned away, taking in the shifting shadows across the water and holding onto the railing with a white-knuckled grip.

He would come around.

"I admire your dedication," I told the water, not ready to face him yet.

"Thank you. But that is why I must have an answer on this," he insisted.

I frowned immediately, wracking my brain for the next part of this conversation.

'He wants you to say you won't betray them, you dolt,' Enserric snapped at me.

I worried at my lip.

'Which you won't.' The sword almost sounded like he was asking a question.

I shook my head. "You think I would betray them?"

"And why not?" he pressed. I turned back to him, noting his downturned lips and the deep crease between his brows. "You've no loyalty to beholden yourself to the drow, or the Seer. For all I know, you may see the death of the drow as a good thing." His voice remained even, but the challenge never left it.

_I wouldn't betray them._

The words died on my lips.

"If you don't trust me so much, why are you here?" I hissed at him, suddenly angry.

"Because the Seer asked me to assist you, and you said you needed that assistance." He gave a dry smile. "Why? Have you changed your mind?"

I sighed and turned back around, unable to take his heavy blue gaze a moment longer. I planted my elbow on the railing of the boat, leaning on it heavily.

"No." I eventually answered. Quieter: "Have you?"

"I said I would help you, and I intend to do so faithfully," he said to my back, with renewed steel. "But I intend to watch you, as well. I don't trust you. It is as simple as that."

I stared at the darkness for a long moment.

Once confident my breathing had steadied, I turned back to face him.

He simply motioned towards the cliffs ahead, and the conversation was over.

Nathyrra appeared suddenly on my left, her approach as sudden as it was silent. She observed the cliffs with a schooled face of disinterest.

The pit in my stomach grew, and I hoped that I hadn't gotten off on the wrong foot with the hard-to-read woman, also.

_I would need them both._

_They would have grown to trust Emma. But could they trust me?_

_Should they?_

Rolling my shoulders back, I watched the rocks as they grew in size, shaking out my hands and giving a few small jumps on the spot — careful not to literally rock the boat.

_You can do this._

The breeze picked up as we pulled into a small cove, ushering me on to the death and craziness beyond.

* * *

**THEN**

I tried to ignore the circling bird above as I focused on tying the last of the leather strapping on her —  _my_ — boots in place.

I wiggled my toes, feeling sick at how delightfully warm my feet felt in the barely cold woman's shoes.

I'd closed her unseeing eyes before stripping her of her valuables —  _a much harder feet than they make it look in the movies, mind you_  — but it hadn't helped. No matter how I spun it, I couldn't hide from the truth. She'd died trying to save us. And now — to repay that final heroic act — I was taking everything she owned and leaving her to rot half-dressed in the middle of nowhere.

_No, not nowhere; in the middle of Silverymoon and Hilltop._

_Because, apparently, Emma wasn't a goddamn LARPer._

_Dorothy and Toto had nothing on me._

Boots now snuggly in place I started loosely strapping her leather vest over my T-shirt. I gave up halfway up my chest — running out of leather string — and shrugged.

I looked down at myself with a frown, hoping I didn't look too much like a comfortable wolf in a skinny sheep's clothing.

Her belt was next — and thank goodness it was too big for her — because it  _just_ fitted with a freshly pierced hole. I left the scabbard which had held the blood-soaked knife empty, and two others now hung uncomfortably at my side.

Having already rifled through her bag and haphazardly packed the canvas bed, I pulled it onto my back before donning the cloak over it all. Her bow and quiver I left untouched by the tree, unsure on how to carry it all.

I tucked my mobile — switched off to conserve the last of the battery,  _just in case_ — into my jean pocket.

Finally ready, I took in the surrounding camp. A long-dead fire, a mess of leaves and dirt thrown about in our panic, and the body of the dead woman who'd helped me without being asked.

She wouldn't have set up camp here if I hadn't slowed her down all day.

_I'm the reason she's dead._

I pushed the thought aside with a sudden burst of anger and without a backwards glance started in a random direction — the one I suspected most likely to lead back to the road.

 _No._ I pressed a palm into my eyes in frustration.  _That thing was the reason she's dead._

_I didn't choose to be here. And I didn't make her attack it._

I focused on the path ahead of me. Or the lack thereof.

A couple of minutes into my fast stomp through the trees — yesterday's dull pain in my feet a fond memory — I found the road.

My adrenaline immediately left me as I realised that this was where my plan ended. I stood on the path, tracking the hawk's wide circles through the sky as I pondered my next move.

_Left to Hilltop, or right to Silverymoon?_

I tried desperately to remember if she'd mentioned which was closer, but with no success.

I knew the longer I lingered, the more time I'd be out here alone. And that monster from last night was just a big black portal away.

_But which way?_

It suddenly occurred to me that she'd mentioned Drogan had been expecting her, an offhand comment I'd pushed aside as assinine roleplaying.

Drogan was real — as real as any of this was — and he was alive.

Whether that meant the events of the game were yet to play out or had never happened — I didn't know.

Emma might have been planning on apprenticing with him.

Mind made up, I started towards Hilltop.

And I walked. I walked until the sun was high in the sky. And then I walked until it was beginning to set.

Later that evening, an eerie feeling of déjà vu settled over me as I sat on my newly inherited bedroll and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of flatbread and dried meat. A weird drink bottle — a waterskin — was propped against my leg, worrisomely close to empty.

The birds above me sung away the last of the daylight as they prepared for nightfall. Around me, the shifting light of the fire chased away the growing shadows. I found myself once more thankful that Emma had shown me how to work the flint and steel as I shivered by the growing flames. I'd collected enough logs and kindling to hopefully last me the night.

A branch suddenly shifted overhead and I froze; heart pounding thunderously in my ears. But the birds continued to sing and there was no deafening roar.

I let myself breathe again.

Instead, the hawk from earlier — Emma's companion — observed me with its strangely intelligent eyes from a swaying branch. It watched me side on, shifting its head as it considered me.

I shifted uncomfortably in my messy bedding, painfully aware that this creature had watched me loot a body earlier that very day.

Feeling a little guilty — and very conscious of its sharp black-tipped beak — I broke another bit of meat off with my teeth. As if sensing this was for it, the bird dropped to the ground silently and waited.

As we took each other in, I noticed that some of the darker brown feathers of its wings were askew. The lighter down-like feathers from underneath peaked through at odd angles.

It must have been injured last night.

I pushed aside another stab of guilt.

Embarrassingly thankful for the company, I threw a strip of dried meat towards the bird. It pondered me for a moment but didn't take long to hop towards the meat and gulp it down.

The leaves rustled quietly on the wind, and the hawk flapped its wings. Thankfully it didn't go far and landed on another low hanging branch. It puffed itself out to prepare for the cold night ahead.

It was only thanks to the damn bird's calm that when I heard another voice — carrying to me from amongst the trees — that I didn't die from the shock of it.

"Hail fellow traveller," his voice was gruff but seemed friendly enough.

I pulled the blankets aside and looked down at my waist, searching for where one of the knives sat. I placed a hand carefully around the hilt of one and tried for calm.

_He doesn't need to know how unprepared I am. I just have to look like I know what I'm doing. Be like Emma._

_Just, you know; alive_.

I forced my breathing into a steady pattern and plastered a smile onto my trembling lips. I left my hand on the weapon.

Searching the trees around me, it wasn't hard to catch the sight of movement and the shadowed humanoid-shape of a man — no spikes — as he approached.

Seconds later, the man passed easily through the tree lining and into the open, stopping to warm himself by my fire. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them appreciatively, hunching his shoulders from the wind that caused his cloak to flap erratically around his ankles.

He was the first person I'd seen all day.

I didn't know if I preferred the idea of the company, or if the promise of this unknown person was even more terrifying than solitude.

He caught my eyes over the flames and smiled warmly at my obvious distrust. He was in his late forties, with a big greying beard and creasing at the corners of his eyes.

Where I not suspicious that this guy might be a serial killer — he could easily be considered handsome.

He didn't say anything, and he didn't approach — the fire remaining immediately between us. I caught his eyes as they dropped momentarily to my knives and then they focused once more on the light of the flames.

"What can I do for you," I finally pressed, cursing the uncertainty in my tone.

He lent down and carefully pulled a log further into the fire, throwing some of the smaller sticks I'd prepared earlier on top for good measure.

He chuckled, a warm open sound, which loosened the tight grip I had around the handle of my weapon. Slightly.

"I find myself quite unprepared for the harshness of these cool nights," he explained through a chuckle. "And have had a horrible time of it travelling to Silverymoon the past day. I saw the light of your fire and thought the opportunity of a warm meal and toasty location too good to pass up."

_Dammit! I knew I hadn't set up far enough from the road. But noooo, you were worried you'd get lost. Idiot._

I watched him with a frown, sizing him up and deciding on what I wanted to say.

What would Emma do?

He rubbed his hands in front of the flame to emphasise his point, before catching me with a sharp look. "And I admit the idea of company was a welcome one," he shrugged. "These forests can be filled with all sorts of dangers for those that are unprepared." He smiled again, "Those such as I, it would seem."

I knew what Emma would do. Emma would offer him the cloak off her back, and would explain how flint and steel worked over dinner.

I tightened my hand on her knife.

_But Emma was dead._

_And I wasn't Emma._

I opened my mouth to tell him I had no food to spare. The words were right there, on the tip of my tongue.

But then I thought of that horrible spiked monster, and Emma's unseeing eyes and I thought he had a point — the company would be preferred. Even if I would have to sleep with my hand on my knife all night.

Why did he have to be a middle-aged man, travelling alone? Why couldn't it be a nice young family with a Golden Retriever — all trained monster hunters?

I took a deep breath, hoping that this man wouldn't prove to be one of the dangers he warned of. I pointed my free hand absently, opposite the fire.

"Make yourself comfy, I guess." I tried for casual.

His eyes lit up and he showed his teeth through his beard in a broad grin. The wind blew his wiry dark hair askew.

"But I'm afraid I don't have any warm food," I admitted.

He immediately waved a hand dismissively, and I found myself relaxing when he used the support of the tree to drop into a cross-legged sitting position.

"I'll take what I can get," he smiled across the flames.

The wind keened around us and I risked pulling the canvas higher up my legs.

He tilted his head back against the tree and smiled.

Over the course of the evening, the birds eventually slept and the forest was silent, but for the crackling of the fire and the distant hum of bugs. His dark eyes bore into the fire and I was thankful that he wasn't the prying type.

It wasn't much later that I found my eyes dropping, my head jolting in shock as I forced myself back awake. Immediately, I looked across the still-healthy fire, to the silent man I knew nothing about. He offered me a gentle smile that creased the corners of his dark eyes at my obvious alarm.

"Sleep," he admonished. "You have nothing to fear from me."

_Words a serial killer would say._

I huffed out a breath, trying for casual as I waved his comment off. I rubbed my ring, hidden on a chain beneath my shirt and vest.

Desperate for something to do, I reached out for my nearby pack and fished out Emma's pouch of fruit. I held one up questioningly, and he offered me a single nod. I tossed him a couple in succession and we ate in grateful silence.

Once the silence had become too much, and the heaviness of my eyes too hard to ignore, I pressed; "So, where are you heading to?"

He smiled slyly, "I like to think the journey — not the arrival — is the part that matters most."

_Something front and centre on his Instagram account, no doubt._

"That's just what directionless people say," I scoffed openly.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. "You're awfully quick to identify me as such. Worried about your own direction, are you?"

I frowned, immediately annoyed at myself for opening up this line of enquiry.

I paused a beat. "I've got people waiting for me in Hilltop." The ease of my lie surprised me.

He surprised me further by laughing — my answer apparently pleasing him.

"Then I stand corrected," he stated. After some thought, he finally offered; "I'll be eventually making my way South." The corner of his lip quirked minutely.

My response was automatic; "Business or pleasure?"

He held his hand in front of him, palm down, and lent it from side-to-side as if to say half-half.

The silver ring on his finger caught the light of the fire.

He must have seen it catch my eye, for he looked down at it and smiled warmly.

He reached up with his spare hand and pulled the ring easily free. Then, without missing a beat, he flicked the small item over the fire.

I scrambled to catch it, forgetting to keep my hand on my knife for the moment.

He didn't move to attack me.

He watched me silently as I looked down at the object. It was masculine, not something I'd look twice at in a storefront — but the delicate etchings of a hand and the swirling whorls behind it was peculiar enough to warrant a second look. Particularly since this would have been done by hand — the detail involved...

"An interesting ring," I finally offered, not sure what else to say and preparing to toss it back.

"Keep it," he said. I opened my mouth to object, but he continued; "Keep it or sell it — it's my way of thanking you for your helping hand this cold night."

He held my eye for a beat and then they dropped back to the fire, the discussion over.

For something to do, I placed the gift on my right ring finger and held it up for inspection. It fit perfectly.

Shocked, and not really believing it, I looked up and attempted to gauge the size of his hands. He rubbed them over the fire, watching me again with a knowing glint in his eyes.

 _Yep, definitely bigger than mine_ —  _this guy's got ham hands..._

I pushed through the discomfort.

_Definitely not the weirdest thing to happen to me in the past two days, I guess..._

Hesitant to look a gift horse in the mouth, I nodded. Definitely not my style of jewellery, but I could do with some money.

There had been a small coin purse in Emma's pack, but even without any clue on what things cost — four coins was a small amount in anyone's world.

Finally, I offered; "Thanks."

He waved a hand dismissively and then began shifting more timber onto the hungry flames of the fire. Once he was confident that it had all caught, he moved back against the tree, tilted his head back against the rough bark, and lifted his lips in a lazy smile.

Similarly, I found a comfortable position as I could manage whilst sitting, and prepared for the long night.

There was no way I was going to sleep with that man only meters from me. Not to mention that thing from the night before always in my thoughts and hiding at the edge of my vision.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, but when I woke with a surprising start the next morning, he was gone.

I noted that the fire was still radiating warmth — well cared for over the course of the night by the travelling stranger— as I hastily packed my belongings. Once confident that I had everything, I stretched my back — limbs popping and neck tight from sleeping upright all night.

I pulled my pack onto my back, making my way back to the path with slightly more confidence than I had the morning before, the strange man's ring snug on my finger and the wind ushering me on.

* * *

**NOTEBOOK EXTRACT**

_Jane's messy handwriting takes up half a page in the back of her notebook, where she keeps her journal entries. The scrawl is followed by a sketch of a ring. There's a strong emphasis on the etching on the jewellery, rather than the band itself._

So I still can't remove the ring. I even stole some grease from the kitchens. Nothing!

I eventually spoke to Drogan about the accursed gift, and he came back to me after doing some of his own 'research'. (I know you're a Harper, old man!)

He said it's "the symbol of the lesser-deity Shaundakul, Rider of the Winds and the Helping Hand." When pressed about his looks, Drogan said; "His avatar is a wind-walking bearded man in a traveller's cape and boots, who bears a greatsword".

The description certainly fits. Well, minus the greatsword.

Drogan said Shaundakul must have recognised one of his own and protected me, being that I'm a ranger… I managed not to scoff. But yeah right!

I'll have to do some more of my own research and find out more. That man, his ring, and I are the only things that are happening differently to the game. It might have something to do with why I'm here.

It might hold the key to getting back home.

…Maybe Xanos can tell me where he's been purchasing all of his books.

If this tiny town has any books that aren't purely about how to cure meats and shear sheep... Urggh.

_The next section details her riveting day mucking out stalls, followed by a pile of shit with stink lines._


	6. Chapter 6

**NOW**

I inhaled deeply, willing my hands to stop shaking as I carefully ran the dirty rag along the length of my knife. Most of the still warm blood came away on the first go, but — for good measure — I exhaled slowly and folded the rag in half, wiping any remaining evidence clean.

Nathyrra knelt by the dead priest's body, rifling through the cursed avariel's belongings with practiced ease. Lomylithrar's eyes — gleaming with sadistic promise only minutes earlier — stared ahead in a slack glare at the cold stone roof above our heads. A pool of blood from the wound in his gut finished off the macabre image.

I sat on the converted temple's steps, leading up to what was to be the makeshift arena for the fight the winged elf had intended to test me with.

Forcing my eyes away from the body at Nathyrra's feet, I returned my knife to my belt with pale, shaking hands. Once safely away, I leaned my arms against my legs and lowered my head between my knees — forcing myself to breathe through the panic.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped onto the white marble floor. I closed my eyes and willed the world to stop spinning and my heart to stop beating quite so erratically.

"Here."

I don't know how much time had passed, but the drow's unassuming voice shocked me more than it should have. I looked up from my knees into her calculating red gaze. She knelt before me, a small uncorked vial held between us.

I reached for it thankfully, offering it up to the drow and tiefling in a wry salute; "Cheers to the dead," my swollen lips stumbled over the bitter words. Then — completely and utterly grateful for the cure — I downed the entire contents of the vial, against the better judgement of my roiling stomach.

I threw the vial away, fighting against my body's desire to bring it all backup. Then I returned to my slumped position, waiting for the illness to pass — eyes shut tight against the too-bright candles that lit the temple's foyer.

"I thought I could push through it," I admonished to the ground through a bitter hiss, beats of sweat dripping from the tip of my nose to the stone floor. "I couldn't even bring myself to face one round of his stupid game!"

I bit my tongue at that admittance. Conscious of my onlookers.

' _You're not thinking straight… Careful what you say.'_ Enserric's voice was vibrating around my skull.

I managed an upright position, feeling my energy returning already.

I pushed aside the hair that was plastered to my forehead angrily. Without a word to either of my companions, I pushed to my feet — fighting against the dark dots that threatened my vision.

I stepped up to the fallen winged elf with a shake of my head.

"Sorry," I whispered.

Careful of the growing pool of blood, I knelt down beside him, taking the shards we needed from his broken body.

_I'm sorry I couldn't_ — wouldn't —  _play your game._

_I'm sorry you had to die._

_I'm sorry I'm not strong enough._

I stood with a sigh, placing the newest mirror shards in a pocket on my belt.

I stood there for some time, willing the room still. It didn't let up.

"I need to rest," I finally admitted.

My companions didn't offer any resistance. Instead, Valen extended an arm as Nathyrra lead us towards a room off the main body of the cursed temple.

We set up shop in the small storage room, sealing the door behind us.

The tiefling sat on the hard floor, his broad back leaning against the timber door, and Nathyrra and I shared a crate opposite him, our bags resting at our feet.

I glanced at the door, imagining the pool of blood growing in the room beyond.  _Would his original god_ —  _the one he'd worshipped his entire life —_ _claim him in death? Or would he serve his cruel goddess for all eternity?_

I shook the thought aside as I fished through my bag.

The silence stretched on.

I forced myself to breathe evenly. "Thanks."

I offered Valen and Nathyrra the underwhelming platitude, eyes downcast as I tied off a filter bag of dried ginger root with a length of string. I fished out a small cup and filled it with water from my waterskin, before placing the tea bag inside.

I waited as the ginger infused with the water, too tired to try scrounging up kindling for a small fire.

Valen lifted his chin towards my drink with a questioning tilt to his brow.

"Ginger tea," I explained with a shrug. "It always helps settle my stomach — even after bad Chinese."

I bit my tongue.  _Another slip up._

' _Focus!'_  Enserric shouted in my mind.

Valen frowned but nodded slowly. Nathyrra lent over the cup and sniffed the surrounding air once, before moving back without comment.

"It's better warm," I shrugged again. "But beggars can't be choosers. It's just too bad it's the last of it."

I tested the drink with a small sip. It would need a little longer if I was going to get any of the ginger's benefits.

"It's not a component I'm familiar with," Valen admitted. "I assume it's not native to the Underdark?" His eyes wandered between Nathyrra and I.

I nodded. "Yet another plant that's impossible to find down here." I pulled a face, before offering him a wry smile. "I've still got a decent stash of Peppermint to go through before I have to start seriously considering a fungi-based tea."

He chuckled, scratching his chin as he considered my comment.

"I admit, it must be hard for you," he stated.

Nathyrra offered a dismissive huff through her nose, only just loud enough for me to hear.

"Most things are," I retorted with a self-deprecating grin, thrown by his sudden shift. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Being down here," he explained. "Someone that's used to the open skies and forests and the creatures of above. You must find the Underdark different to world you've spent your whole life familiarising yourself with."

I attempted not to let the surprise register on my face, as I tried to consider his view of who I was — or, rather, who I presented myself as. I needed to tread carefully.

"It's been an adjustment," I admitted slowly. "But the Underdark is just another facet of nature. One I will become more familiar with."

I dipped the tea bag in and out of my cup of water.

"Is my discomfort so obvious?" I pressed after a moment of consideration.

Valen opened his mouth to reply, but it was Nathyrra who spoke first. "Only to those who care to look," she said simply.

In a society of drow, always looking for their enemies weaknesses; that was a definitive yes.

From Valen's wry smile, it was obvious he has been trying to find a more tactful way of saying just that.

"Good thing I've got someone else by my side that knows what it's like to stand out like a sore thumb then, isn't it?" I retorted, quite pleased with myself as I appraised the large man's horns openly.

His lips curled up again, and he rose a hand to scratch at his chin, hiding his smile.

I looked down into the clear cold tea and realised suddenly that I'd forgotten my earlier nausea and the cure had taken effect. Ever the masochist, I suddenly pictured the growing puddle of blood around the winged priest, and the nausea was back.

"You don't need to worry about me," I finally assured them, taking the time to ensure my voice was strong and steady. I tightened my grip on the cup. "I'm a quick learner. I'll be acting like a local in no time — right down to the matricide and enslavement of all men, Jaluk." I spat the drow word for 'male' out, channelling my inner matron mother with a confident smirk.

I felt Nathyrra tense by my side, but when I glanced sideways her face was schooled into a cool smirk. She raised a brow at me, a playful twinkle in her eyes. Valen simply shook his head, but I couldn't help but notice the curl that also graced the corner of his lips.

I sipped my tea, hiding my answering smile.

Hours later, when we walked past the fallen priest's body and towards the next shard of the mirror, I forced myself to look at him and accept the harshness of my new environment.

I stepped back out into the Underdark, the readier for it.

* * *

**THEN**

_I was not ready. At all._

I pulled Emma's coat tighter around my shoulder, hiding my neck from the brisk chill.

I'd entered the quiet town of Hilltop with the dusk, fog crawling in behind me. Small pockets of stark yellow light from burning torches in tall timber frames lit up the winding path between the buildings ahead.

The greeting I had received had been clipped, but friendly enough. The stink of the town had been less so. Damp grass — which on its own wasn't altogether too unpleasant — with a hint of shit carried on the breeze.

"Here to see Drogan," had been enough to grant me entry — if a bit of a raised eyebrow after an open appraisal.

But now that I was here, here with all these people scurrying quickly from building to building, it all felt so surreal.

I wanted to scream at them. To shout.  _There's a young woman out there, dead in the forest. A monster killed her — what are you all standing around for?_ But I didn't. I kept my coat pulled tightly around my neck and kept my eyes on the road ahead of me. I followed the winding path the guard had pointed me down — houses thinning out the further I progressed from the gates.

Banners flapped loudly in the wind, one adorning each of the larger buildings with a simple emblem painted on the damp, greying material.

A brown cauldron, a green leaf, a yellow harp, a red woman…  _praying_?

Clean smoke billowed from most of these larger building's stone chimneys, eventually overpowering the smell of shit on the breeze.

My legs burned from days of overuse as I made the gradual incline towards Drogan's school.

I wasn't ready to face him. It was too real, in a way that thinking I was seconds from death hadn't been. Going to Drogan, meeting him — being in this place, even — was an admittance that I was probably stranded here, and would have to make do. That, or — more likely — further proof of how far I'd slipped into insanity.

The houses slipped away behind me, as the uneven stone path abruptly stopped and became more of a thoroughfare of mud amongst the lush green grass.

A couple of cows, big black creatures with kind eyes, watched my progression with mild curiosity as the fog ahead cleared to show me a lone building near a dark jagged cliff face — too high to see the top. The building was two or three stories high; impossible to tell from my vantage and with the uneven slope of the roof. An empty barn was tacked onto the side, and the torches in this part of Hilltop were all unlit.

Smoke rose from a short chimney near the front of the building, promising long-forgotten warmth within.

"Thank fuck," I muttered.

A sheep bleated back at me in the distance.

Squaring my shoulders, I closed the last of the distance to the building, taking a deep breath and preparing myself to face Drogan.

I rapped my knuckles against the thick timber door once, before giving up and hitting it again with the palm of my hand; harder this time.

_Off to a great start, Jane; you can't even knock on a damn door properly._

I rolled my eyes, as I self consciously picked a few leaves from the oily brown tangle my hair had become. I lifted my arm as high as my tired muscles would allow and gave a tentative sniff — before wrinkling my nose in disgust.

_How had I not thought to take time to present myself a little better?_

I heard nothing on the other side of the door, before it suddenly opened, letting out a wave of warmth and light that instantly made me relax.

A young woman with short cropped blond hair and serious green eyes set beneath a light frown stared back at me. Upon taking in my bedraggled appearance, she rested against the edge of the door and half-closed it, until I could only see her face and nothing of the building within.

I could hear muffled voices talking enthusiastically over the crackling of fire —  _they sounded friendly enough..._

"Yes?" the woman pressed in a quiet voice, openly eyeing me up and down.

"Emma," I instantly replied. Wide green eyes blinked back at me. "Uh, yeah, I'm Emma."

I silently hoped that Emma wouldn't begrudge me the use of her name.

_If she had an issue, there was little she could do about it..._

I stuck a hand towards the blonde —  _my god, my nails are disgusting!_  She opened the door slightly to take my hand tentatively in her own, giving it a quick squeeze. I pretended not to notice as she wiped her hand on her cream cotton pants, before placing it back on the edge of the door.

"Here to see Drogan?" I continued, suddenly unsure. I shifted my bag uncomfortably on my shoulders when she didn't offer her name.

She didn't say anything more, before closing the door. The noise and light instantly disappeared, leaving me instantly conscious of how late it was getting. The colour was almost completely gone from the sky, and the fog was quickly closing in. I didn't want to have to trek back into the main hub of town now. Not in the dark.

Luckily the door opened again, fully this time, and I was faced with the same young woman — girl, really.

"Welcome, Emma," she offered me a flat smile — no teeth — and stepped back, ushering me into the room.

I wasted no time, pushing carefully past her into the timber-clad room.

Timber floors, timber walls, timber ceiling.  _The builder had obviously never heard of using contrasting materials and colours…_

_But the people — the people were definitely a contrast._

The young blonde breezed past me to a long — also timber — table. She slid carefully onto a bench seat in front of an unclaimed bowl and glass of water.

Sitting across from her was the largest — and easily ugliest — man I'd ever laid eyes on. He observed me over the rim of a glass mug with dark, amused eyes. His skin had a sickly green tinge to it, at odds with his stark black hair. When he slammed his mug back onto the table, wiping a garishly coloured sleeve across his mouth, I noticed his severe overbite — two large pointed teeth peeking out from behind his bottom lip. But, all said and done, he did have a magnificent curled moustache.

I forced myself to stop openly staring and focus on the smiling brunette woman by his side — squat in comparison to the hulking green beast of a man by her side — her large green eye twinkling beneath a blue bandana. Her smile was crooked but welcoming.

With a groan, the final man pushed from the bench seat across from them, clapping the blonde on the back as he did so.

Only once he was walking towards me did it become apparent just how short and stocky he was. A man on the later side of middle-aged, he had a balding head and an intricately braided beard that obscured his entire neck from view.

_Drogan._

He watched me silently from behind a pair of half-moon spectacles that sat low on his flat nose.

I shuffled uncomfortably, thrusting out my hand again for nothing better to do. "Drogan?" I pressed him on his slow approach. He raised a wiry grey eyebrow. "You were expecting me. I'm Emma."

He paused only slightly, before offering me a broad smile and reaching enthusiastically for my outstretched hand in a strong grip. He pulled me easily towards him and I lent forward, letting the man — the dwarf — clap me on the back with a great hand.

"The ranger we were waiting on?" I heard the blond girl query the other two.

Over Drogan's shoulder, I watched the great big man as he shrugged his shoulders — large gold hoop earrings bobbing with his head — before returning enthusiastically to his meal.

"Yeah, um—" I pulled my shoulders back. "Sorry I'm late. It's been a long trip." I shrugged. "Faced some troubles on my way here. Met the strangest woman—"

"Come," Drogan cut me off with a deep booming voice. "Put your things by the stairs and, please, eat. You can tell us of your travels over a warm bowl of stew."

At the mention of warm stew —  _hell, warm anything would have done the trick_ — I started salivating like Pavlov's dog.

And so I did, positioning myself as far from the strange green man as I could, before spinning them a story of the strange barefoot woman I'd found between Silverymoon and here. I described the terrifying creature that had killed her — despite my best efforts — before recounting the strange man who'd gifted me a seemingly cursed ring, which I now couldn't remove.

I carefully watched Drogan for any reaction as my story unfolded, but he offered me nothing. Just thoughtful contemplation.

From what I could remember, he'd worked — did work? — with the secret organisation; The Harpers. So I honestly hadn't expected to be able to pull the wool over his eyes this easily, despite my last two days of preparation. He was my best bet at finding out more about what had happened to me — or rather 'to the strange barefoot woman named Jane'. But I'd have to be careful. No saying what the dwarf would do if he found out I wasn't his promised apprentice right off the bat. Let him warm to my  _winning_ personality first.

The lies came easier and easier as the conversation flowed between myself and the three apprentices. They were all eager to introduce themselves; Xanos Messarmos the half-orc sorcerer, dwarven Dorna Trapspringer the cleric and rogue extraordinaire, and the young blonde was Misha Waymeet, Paladin in training.

Drogan observed us all silently over the course of our dinner, a thoughtful expression on his sun-lined face, short fingers winding carefully through the braiding in his beard.

I didn't have to fake the large yawn that wracked my body after a second helping of lumpy stew. In reply, Drogan used the opportunity to insist we all wash up — this almost definitely directed at me — and to get a good night's sleep. Now that everyone had arrived training started in earnest early on the morrow.

_No rest for the wicked, apparently._

It was probably for the best; I wasn't anywhere near ready for the Kobold attack that I knew was coming in our near future, but I was going to have to do my darn best to make sure I was as close to ready as I could be. If I wanted to live, anyways.  _Probably not a reload button if I royally fucked this up..._

I had a steep learning curve, but wasn't that the point of Drogan's school — to train us?

As I stacked our bowls and passed them to Misha, I don't think I'd yet realised quite how steep.

* * *

**NOTEBOOK EXTRACT**

_A short extract of Emma's neat handwriting takes up a single spread, outlining different teas to be found in her aged tea case. On the page, beside each tea, there's a simple symbol for easy identification. Jane's added to this list in her messy scrawl, over time._

**Sylvan Tea**

_The symbol next to the name matches up with a herbal tea bag in her tea case._

Taste: Smooth with a tangy aftertaste

Benefits: Uncontrollable giggling and dancing

Side Effects: Uncontrollable giggling and dancing

**Softsugar Tea**

_The symbol next to the name matches up with a tiny vial filled with fine white powder._

Taste: Sweet

Benefits: Increased speed and reflexes

Side Effects: Can't sit still, fatigue after use, addictive

_There's a note added after the fact in Jane's messy handwriting:_ Pretty sure this contains 389% of your daily sugar intake. Not sure it's safe…

**Silverleaf Tea**

_The symbol next to the name matches up with a bag of dried out green leaves with a slight mirror-like sheen._

Taste: Bitter and slightly metallic, better with honey

Benefits: Increased immunity to disease

Side Effects: Results in temporary argyria

_Jane's aggressively underlined the word 'argyria' and added some additional notes:_ Turns you grey!

**Venomcleanse Tea**

_The symbol next to the name matches up with a tea bag of dried out green leaves, ground into small pieces._

Taste: Bitter

Benefits: Cleanses the body of toxins and minor poisons

Side Effects: Mouth feels dry after drinking. Not bad, just odd.

_Jane's circled this section and added her own notes underneath:_ Good for a hangover

**Nararoot Tea**

_The symbol next to the name matches up with a small vial of dried root shavings._

Taste: Bitter

Benefits: Birth control, renders the drinker infertile for a week or two

Side Effects: Cramps when wearing off

_Jane's circled this section and added her own notes underneath:_ Stops monthly cycle!  _This is followed by a smiley face._

**Ginger Tea**

_The symbol next to the name matches up with a small vial of dried root shavings._

Taste: Spicy and woody

Benefits: Relieves nausea, delicious

Side Effects: None.  _Jane's crossed this out and added her own side effects:_ Instills nostalgia for home


	7. Chapter 7

**NOW**

We were bruised.

We were bloody.

And we weren't even in the thick of it, yet.

Sabal had been impossibly quick — another time stop spell?— to use her single magical shard on the pillar closest to her. What had seemed a fight in our favour moments ago, now saw us on the defensive.

Whilst we'd barred the door behind us to slow her reinforcements, we'd only had the advantage of numbers for a scant few seconds. Now there were four of her. All perfect mirror images of each other. And each as deadly and dangerous as the last.

Nathyrra was engaged with one, both a flurry of blades and shadows.

Valen was actively defending against two more. He bore down on one as the other scored a slash at his unprotected flank. He swung his flail in a wide arc, forcing her back. Then, with a roar of rage, he rushed the other.

I forced myself into slow even breaths; arrow notched and bow taught. My shoulder blades burned under the stress, as I held the bow in position below my chin.

I scanned the field, backing up against a pillar lest the final Sabal get the slip on me.

Valen gave a shout of pained anger, dropping to a knee.

I forced myself to exhale slowly as I lined up my new target.

I released the arrow, aiming for the middle of her back.

The arrow lodged in the shoulder of one of his assailants, her bloody blade shining in the Throne Room's limited light.

She paused.

That was all the advantage Valen needed. He swept the legs out from under her with his flail's chain, before regaining his footing.

I paused, hand raised and ready to draw another arrow.

The air shifted beside me and I felt the downy hairs on my neck shift.

I dropped my bow, ducking to the side in a roll as Sabal slashed at where I'd been a moment before. She bore her teeth in a snarl.

I hit the floor hard, before scrambling to my feet.

I drew my knife and stepped out of range.

She was upon me, leaping forward and driving her shoulder into my chest, knocking the wind from me and forcing me back. My back slammed into the pillar behind me and I gasped desperately. I don't know what happened to my bow, but it was gone.

She was angry. This wasn't the cool and collected Sabal we'd fought before.

And this was definitely no mirror image.

I dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, gulping down air. Sabal's glowing daggers slashed the air where my neck had been.

I staggered.

The drow woman spun on me, eyes narrowed in concentration. She lifted a hand, weapon pointed at me.

She pulled back her lips in a snarl, spitting out the first phrase of an arcane spell.

I pulled my forearm back and flung my knife.

It wobbled momentarily but flew true. I thought I had her until she easily battered it aside with her own blades.

The spell died on her lips.

I drew my longsword. Not enough time for another attempt at throwing a knife.

' _Finally_ ,' I heard Enserric's lazy drawl in my mind as I drew him in an arc, keeping the magic weapon between us.

She smiled, bright white teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Then her eyes widened and I saw the shadows shift behind her.

I pressed my advantage and charged at her. I plunged my sword through Sabal's stomach, as Nathyrra's blades crossed her throat.

I grimaced as warm blood sprayed my face.

My sword's easy laughter filled my head.

I was turning even as I pulled the bloody weapon free, and my breathing was coming out in ragged gasps.

Valen was still engaged with the final Sabal. I searched desperately for my abandoned bow.

He lifted his flail, chain whipping taught above his head.

Suddenly, she paused, before simply fading out of existence.

He brought the heavy weapon down with a roar, right where the drow had been.

He left the head of his flail on the ground, shoulders heaving.

The other body at Valen's feet, her head a bloody pulp, faded away.

I wiped as much of the blood from my face as I could with the back of my wrist as I knelt by the true Sabal's body. She was heaving in shallow gulps of air, her body convulsing as blood spilt from her throat.

I bit my bottom lip uncomfortably as she caught my eye, gaze red and full of hate.

I shifted my eyes away from the drow's broken body, prepared to wait. Then I caught Nathyrra's raised white brow.

I swallowed hard, reminding myself this woman had been trying to kill us seconds earlier and would have no qualms about watching us die.

I approached her broken form cautiously, kneeling gently by her side. She gasped again, a horrible wet sucking sound. She was trying to say something. More blood spilt from her neck.

Without meeting her hateful stare, I carefully pulled the shard of glass we'd been fighting over from her prying fingers. As an afterthought, I pocketed the gleaming silver ring on her index finger.

"Uh," I started uncomfortably. "Thanks for those."

The door behind us shook again with the force of Sabal's reinforcements, the handle turning in its place.

Tense, I stood, placing my free hand on my belt, body tense and ready for another fight.

I needn't have worried.

Nathyrra ushered a few words of magic and pointed towards the door, renewing the spell that created the glowing green apparition.

_Bigby's interposing hand was certainly useful..._

Without another word I made towards the waiting fool, picking up my far thrown bow and throwing knife, my prize in hand.

His eyes left the dying body of Sabal at my approach, his face pale and grim.

I held the shards out to him.

"I hope once our Queen Shaori is restored she leaves the blood here in the throne room, to remind her people of the folly of war." He said, eyes focused on the shards.

_Yeesh, you're welcome._

He shook his head. "But such concerns are not mine." A sigh. "Once I restore the mirror, I will again be nothing more than a dancing fool." Though his voice was steady, I could see the fear in his eyes.

Nathyrra, replacing the knives to her belt, stepped up beside me. "A noble sacrifice." She nodded her head once. "I hope it is not forgotten once the kingdom is restored." The bloodlust radiating from her only moments before was completely forgotten.

My heart was still hammering in my ears.

The Fool smiled wanly at her kind words. "Now that the shards have all been collected in the Throne Room, I can begin the incantation to repair the mirror. Thank you, all. The Avariel are forever in debt to you."

He motioned to the dust-covered rug, once a grand weave of colours, and I placed the shards at his feet.

He placed his thick-fingered hand above the shimmering pile, and with a few hushed words, the room filled with light so bright that when I blinked it did nothing to dampen it. The world rung in my ears as I felt the room shift around us.

When I opened my eyes again, the Queen stood before us, restored mirror in hand. The Fool, a vacant expression that hadn't been there before, now on his slack face. The Queen's hand rested on his shoulder.

"I thank you, kind Aethen," A solemn nod.

She held the mirror towards me. An offering.

I accepted the artefact — the reason we'd started with the mystery island — hoping my eagerness didn't show.

One challenge down.

* * *

**THEN**

I was exhausted.

Turned out the first component of my 'training' wasn't very exciting.

I'd fed the school's chickens and sheep, milked the cows, and then cleaned out the stalls in the stables.

The only thing that had even slightly strayed from Drogan's strict instructions had been that I'd put aside some of the milk to feed to the stray ginger barn cat — who I'd named Mr Meowgi — who'd successfully tripped me up a few times that morning.

I don't know what it was supposed to have taught me, but it had succeeded in making me stink almost as bad as the livestock.

_Plus, my back ached like a mother fucker._

The second part of my training was even worse: Running a lap around Hilltop's walls.

_Which wasn't even close to fucking possible._

I gasped in a deep breath through burning ribs.

_I'd like to see the stumpy-arsed dwarf try…_

I lent over a bush, wiping the back of my sleeve across my mouth with a groan. Bile was on my breath.

Misha was jogging on the spot to my left, watching with a look of disgust plain on her face. Her cheeks were flushed and she breathed with careful, controlled puffs of air.

The sun was rising on the horizon. We were supposed to be back before it was fully visible.

I groaned again, fighting against the spinning world around me.

_Drogan should be happy_ if  _I make it back, timing be damned._

"You done?" The paladin-in-training questioned between far more dignified huffs.

I waved her off, too out of breath to insist she continue on or go fuck herself. She rolled her eyes.

I spat into the bush again, keeping my eyes on the infuriating young woman as I did so. She pulled a disgusted face, but to her strength, didn't turn to leave.

Groaning in defeat, I pushed myself up straight again, trying my best to ignore the burning in my legs.

_When was the last time I'd gone for a run?_

My following 'Let's get this over with', came out more like: "Lets, yeah? Fuck."

She'd shaken her head minutely but hadn't begrudged me my slower pace as we'd continued towards Hilltop's main gates, chasing the growing sun.

The sun was well overhead when we finally reached Drogan's school.

The half-orc I'd met the night before greeted us with a toothy grin. Xanos sat on a rocking chair by the front door, enjoying the morning's rays as it melted away the fog and frost. A murky cup of water sat at his feet and an open book in a language that definitely wasn't English was on his lap.

Misha and I approached him, the younger woman stopping to stretch.

I fell to the floor in a heap, knees bent and starting at the cloudy blue sky above us. I gulped in great gasping mouthfuls of air as he chuckled warmly at our misfortune.

"Good run?" He questioned with teasing mirth.

I groaned and Misha gave an indignant huff.

I lent towards Xanos' cup and drained it in a couple of spluttering mouthfuls, most of it ending up on my new cotton shirt, ignoring his indignant objections.

I threw it aside and then flopped back onto my back and closed my eyes.

I don't know how long I lay there, Misha and Xanos discussing the dwarf Dorna's location —  _the fucking tavern_ — when Drogan's face suddenly blocked out the sun.

His bushy brows swallowed his eyes in a deep frown, his hands on his hips in open disapproval.

_Shit._

I scrambled to stand, the world spinning once more. I flailed, grabbing the top of Xanos' rocking chair, nearly upending him — if his gasp was anything to go by.

I blinked at the dwarf's open disapproval. Misha continued stretching behind him, a smirk clear on her lips, green eyes twinkling in delight.

"I thought I told you back before the sun." He pushed his half-moon glasses further up his nose.

_I'm tired from my travel here,_ my brain insisted on the lie. I opened my mouth to follow through when he turned on Misha.

"Both of you," he started, "I want another lap."

She paused mid-stretch, her eyes darting between myself and Drogan. Indignant anger flashed across her face.

I smirked at her over Drogan's shoulder. I covered my mouth, too late, behind a hand.

"I was waiting for her," she went red, cutting a hand in my direction.

Drogan stepped back into the school's doorway. "You're a team," he shook a stubby finger at her. "You're only as strong as the weakest link. Another lap." He slammed the door.

The following two weeks passed in much the same fashion. We woke hours before the sun —  _yep, I'm still stuck in this nightmare of a dream-world,_ my first thought every morning. I tended to the animals. I'd run a lap around Hilltop with Misha. We couldn't finish the lap in time, because of me. We'd run  _another_ lap around Hilltop. Dried meat for lunch followed by stretches with Hilltop's soldiers. Before another lap with my unwitting companion.

Then, I'd prepare dinner alone —  _yay; more boiled vegetables_ — as the other's did who knows what out in town. They'd come and go in the evening, sometimes eating around the table together, sometimes missing dinner entirely.

Every night, after collapsing in bed by the light of a candle, I'd pull out Emma's notebook and memorised the different creatures and plants she'd illustrated within.

Broad waxy leaves, green with red veins. Floating on water, with a single stringy root below the surface.  _Bloodpurge. Found in freshwater marshes. Neutralises minor poisons._

A small leafy herb.  _Bloodstaunch. Found in gullies in arid temperatures and foothills. Slows bleeding when ground into powder. Smells like honey._

A tuber with green and purple leaves. Single green stalk for a flower with two petals.  _Nararoot. Found in the shade of trees in cold climates. Birth control._

There were pages upon pages that continued in such a fashion until it suddenly stopped a third of the way through. There was seemingly no pattern to the codex. They were probably just added randomly as she travelled.

I started filling it with everything I learnt, wanting more than anything to complete Emma's notebook and remember as much as I could to help me with what was to come.

Then, on a morning like any other that week, I met Misha at the school's doors after mucking out the stalls. Orange cat hair littered my ankles and I smelt — like always — of shit. The cold air burned my lungs as I stretched, going through my breathing exercises.

She approached me with a nod, and we were off without a word.

A little over a half hour later, we arrived back at the school with victorious shouts, the emerging sun throwing drastic shadows all around us.

Misha was breathing just as heavily as me as we stretched; huge grins on both of our flushed faces. Drogan had come outside, watching us with a bemused smirk under his thick braided beard.

From then on, we only ran the once in the morning, joining the guards afterwards for sword practice instead of just catching their stretches at the tail-end.

A young soldier with fluff on his lip took us through movements with a long wooden sword; the exercise more akin to yoga than sword-practice. I enjoyed this component of our training, focusing only on the movements and the breathing, letting the world around me fall away. The dummy swords had hilts long enough for a tight two-handed grip which felt awkward in my small hands, but I persisted.

We parted ways with the soldiers in the middle of each day with a smile and a handshake with those who had given their time.

I left each time wondering just what  _they_ got out of it.

I found out at the end of that week, when Misha and I sat in their barracks sanding back the practice swords, sharpening their blades, and oiling their leathers for the majority of our 'day off'. Misha helped me with these tasks with patience better suited to a motherly teacher than a paladin-in-training, despite my teasing.

We cut through the monotony, discussing the different movements we'd learnt that week and chatting about what we hoped to learn when we got to the actual fighting.

That afternoon brought me my the first opportunity to explore the town at my own leisure.

"So where're you headed first?" Dorna pressed as we ate dinner.

"The Bubbling Cauldron!" Xanos gave me a hard whack on the back. I spluttered, spilling most of my drink. "Isn't that right, Emma?"

I shook my head, pounding my chest to clear the water I'd swallowed the wrong way. "Gonna have a bit of a wander."

Most of my exploration was around Drogan's school and barn, the outside of the town's walls, and the barracks that backed onto the Community Hall. I'd barely had a spare moment to myself to even consider exploring the other buildings, beyond the occasional curious glance as I rushed past.

"Well, when you get thirsty for a  _real drink_ , meet us at The Cauldron," Xanos pushed his empty bowl away and rose from the table with a belch.

Dorna chuckled. "If I haven't drunk this lightweight under the table by then, ey?"

I caught Misha's disapproving glance, and she perked up at my attention.

"I'll be helping Veraunt with some filing this evening," she paused for a moment, before; "There's always plenty of work at the 'Hall, if you want it." Misha said this last bit with a tilt of her head.

I shrugged, flattered at the invites. "I'll see how I go. Got actual training  _with_ Drogan tomorrow morning, so I don't want to go too crazy."

Drogan had let me know that afternoon in as few words, so I had no idea what to expect. So far, the other's training with Drogan had been completely different — so I couldn't go based off of their experience. I'd actually caught Xanos trying to conjure something whilst Drogan had thrown things at his head! Somehow I doubted that was on our schedule.

Misha left before us, and Dorna, Xanos and I were quick to follow after rugging up against the autumn evening's chill.

_Fuck this weather for a joke. How am I going to make it through winter?_ I pulled my cloak tighter around me.

I followed them as far as the first hut and offered them a wave of goodbye as they continued bickering towards The Bubbling Cauldron.

I stood before a small shop I'd passed every day. It was mainly timber panels, built against an old oak tree. Large orange leaves littered the thatched roof. The door was closed against the chill, but the timber plank with a painted green leaf was still out front.

_Good; they're still open._

I gave the door a hard knock before stepping inside. The interior was almost as cold as outside, but it was lit infinitely better. The wall of the room that was the tree's trunk was littered in burning torches, throwing dramatic shadows around the herbalist's shop. Drying plants hung from every inch of the ceiling, giving off a dirty yet sweet smell. I stomped my boots at the door, conscious of the beautiful pelts that lined every inch of the floor.

A head popped out of an adjoining doorway, pushing aside a hanging brown hide to better see me.

I blinked through my surprised stare.

A large garish scar split his face down the middle. Starting in his dark stubble, it pulled one side of his lips into a deep frown, cutting across the ridge of his slightly bent nose. The old scar — white against his sun-weathered skin — bypassed his deep brown eyes, before cutting through his eyebrow and disappearing into his hairline. His brown hair was disrupted by a badgerlock; a patch of white hair where the scar continued.

A pause, then; "You're Drogan's new apprentice, aren't you?" He walked into the room, bare feet making no sound on the plush rugs.

He was in his early to mid-thirties, a short man with impossibly broad shoulders. He rubbed his chin as he took me in, a critical look to his sharp eyes.

"Yeah," I said. He took my offered wrist in greeting. I only paused slightly before introducing myself this time. "Name's Emma."

"Farghan," he replied. "I've seen you running laps the last few weeks. You're getting quicker." He smiled warmly, the scar pulling his lip down on one side.

I groaned, my cheeks warming. "You didn't, did you?" I paused, searching my memory. I frowned. "I didn't see you out there."

Another warm smile. "Doesn't mean I wasn't out there." He tilted his head in question. "But what brings you  _here?"_

I reached for my small satchel, one of the few items Drogan had gifted me with upon arriving. I fished out Emma's notebook with care and handed it to him.

He gently took it from my hands, flicking through the worn pages, stopping occasionally. His brows were turned down.

"I'm hoping to fill it with more," I explained when he handed it back with an impressed curve of his mouth. I nodded around the room, taking in all of the organised mess around us. "You seem like you might be able to help."

Another friendly smile. "And what do I get out of helping you fill your little book?"

I shrugged. "What do you need?"

And so my routine became even busier and my days stupidly longer.

Drogan's first day of training had begun with him gifting me with a magical ring —  _how had I forgotten about these?_ — which Drogan explained to me in great detail. The ring was a fail-safe should I find myself in a situation with no escape. When fed with a focus crystals, it would teleport me back to Drogan. He'd gifted me with a singular crystal — clear and about the size of my palm — and the unsaid warning that it was only for emergencies. I placed the ring of my middle finger, one along from the ring I'd been gifted by the strange man my second night here.

Ring and crystal in place, he gave a satisfactory nod.

Then, just when I thought our training was about to start, he told me that meat stocks were running low and that he would like some freshly caught venison.

I opened my mouth, about to ask him where I would purchase it when he handed me a couple of silver coins.

"For a bow," he explained. "Farghan — who I believe you met last night — will be able to string you up one."

I pocketed the coins in a daze, surprised that he knew, before reminding myself he was part of The Harpers. Knowing things was his business.

"Thanks," I nodded slowly. "Lost mine in the tussle with the… the thing." I swallowed, staring at my feet.

He hummed in answer.

"Pack your things," he said. My head shot up. "Weather turning cold as it is, they'll be scarce. I'm looking forward to a  _harty_ ," he paused to make sure I got the joke, "stew." He looked impossibly pleased with himself

I tried not to baulk.

_I was going back out there? Alone?_

_I was never going to be able to do that on my own…_

* * *

**NOTEBOOK EXTRACT**

_A double page of Jane's handwriting underneath a crudely drawn map of Hilltop, with icons marking buildings of note._

Hilltop population: roughly 100, mainly human

**Drogan's School**

Residents: Me, Jane (going by Emma) - human "ranger-in-training", Drogan Droganson - dwarven wizard and cleric (Harper), Misha Waymeet - human paladin-in-training, Xanos Messamos - half-orc sorcerer and barbarian (weird mix), Dorna Trapspringer - dwarven rogue and cleric.

Places of note: Downstairs - locked door, (presumably Drogan's laboratory with tools to create more rogue stones). Main level - kitchen, main hall, Drogan's suite (locked), storage room (food and basic weapons). Upper level - My room (bed, basin, chest), Dorna's room (locked), Xanos' room (locked), Misha's room (unlocked, bless her. Nothing of value), two spare rooms identical to my own.

Misc: Apparently an outhouse is state of the art?!

**Drogan and the Tavern's Shared Barn**

Residents: Two horses (Drogan's) - I've named them Harry Trotter and Usain Colt, one donkey (the tavern's) - named Donkey, space for three more animals.

**Tavern - The Bubbling Cauldron**

Residents: Lodar (owner), Mara (chef), Jill (bar-wench, Hilltop isn't very politically correct)

Regulars: Hol Halstrom and Toman (local farmers), Dorna and Xanos (really like drinking), Gery (shady travelling merchant - specialises in poisons, will buy certain herbs), Piper (town drunk - likes to tell a yarn), Belia (entertainer - plays the flute, not very good)

**Residence 1:**  (locked)

**Residence 2:**  (locked)

**Residence 3:**  (locked)

**Residence 4:**  (doesn't take kindly to people walking into their home without knocking)

**Residence 5:**  (locked)

**Community Hall and Militia**

Residents: Veraunt Skuttlecomb (mayor/asshole), Gilford (cleric), Donnic (guard captain), Jon (guard - will bellow a tune when drinking), fifteen other guards (all male).

Places of note: Small temple to Illmater, guard's quarters (locked chests - couldn't force open), mayor's office (pretentiously big chair - little man syndrome?), kitchen, main hall (long tables - could seat up to 50)

**Herbalist's Treehouse**

Residents: Farghan (ranger - good with a bow and identifying/using herbs, good tracker, bossy), Bethsheva (winter wolf - Farghan's companion, doesn't take kindly to being mistaken for a dog)

Misc: Pays well for herbs

**The Smith**

Residents: Fiona (blacksmith/smart-arse), Glendir (Fiona's half-brother/half-wit)

Misc: Trades in arms and armour (too big/heavy)


	8. Chapter 8

**NOW**

"Nightlights," Nathyrra hummed, hands on her hips as she observed the stringy stalks of fungi.

I took the cavern in, barely concealing my awe at the sight before us.

The cavern Nathyrra had lead us to gave off a dull green glow from the flora. It was large, maybe 80 feet across, with the ceiling too high for me to make out, despite the steady illumination.

Within, there were tall, strange tube-like fungi, which grew in clusters throughout the chamber, reaching from the floor and disappearing out of sight above our heads. They illuminated a scattering of small orange and red toadstools, which I'd rested my pack upon — the Mirror of True Seeing carefully wrapped in my cloak on top.

I rested a hand gently against the wrapped bundle, caressing the soft material of my cloak, remembering the Seer's words of warning.

We'd reported to the Seer, updating her on our discovery in the avariel's cursed city, pausing only long enough to restock on potions before setting out again. Before leaving, the Seer had grabbed my wrist, warning me gently that the Mirror was too much power for any one person, before releasing me with a soft smile. I'd offered a weak explanation that it might be a good bargaining chip with the Illithid before we'd set out for their trading post, Nathyrra taking point.

We'd left the neighbouring island —the Maker's Isle, Valen had reminded me — untouched, admitting with as much command as I could muster that we simply weren't ready to face an army of Golems.

Nathyrra hadn't taken it well.

The drow had narrowed her eyes, warning me that the Valsharess would have no such fears before Valen had stepped in to defend my 'tactful decision'. I hoped that the surprise on my face hadn't been obvious. After a few clipped words between them, we'd left the cursed island behind, travelling on Cavallas' boat straight for Lith My'athar, lulled to sleep by the softly lapping water.

That had been over a day ago.

Now, my legs ached from the long, silent march through the Underdark. My hands were beginning to shake from exhaustion, sleep staved off by adrenaline for too long. I'd pushed myself too hard trying to prove that I could keep up with the drow and tiefling. If we stumbled across any of the Valsharess' troops now, the best I could hope to do would be to stay awake to watch the fight.

I don't know how much longer Nathyrra had intended to keep up the gruelling pace before I'd told her we had to stop and recuperate.

Hours later, she'd lead us to this cavern.

In the centre of the cavern were three massive grey mushrooms, giant forty-foot pillars with large caps on top. Walnut-sized spores littered the muddy floor around us, softening our footfalls. A bubbling pool — a mother fucking  _hot spring,_ if the steam and eggy smell were anything to go by — gurgled to one side. Water filtered from the spring, through stringy lengths of the glowing fungi, to a small but beautifully clear pool nearby. Valen knelt beside it, filling his canteen, humming gently under his breath.

"I can see why you wanted to set up camp here," I admitted to Nathyrra with a nod around us.

I spoke in hushed words, but the quiet of the Underdark made even my whispers sound garishly loud as it bounced off the stone walls around us.

She nodded in reply, rolling her eyes as if to say 'obviously'.

"We won't be the only ones that think so," Valen warned, wiping the water from his lips.

Which is why, later that day —  _night_? — we'd climbed the stringy fungi Nathyrra had called Nightlights. I'd downed a potion of Cat's Grace when their backs were turned, giving it a moment to kick in before we climbed and positioned ourselves atop the larger of the mushrooms — Zurkhwood, Nathyrra had told me. The climb had been relatively easy, the drow first climbing the naturally ridgy underside of the caps, before helping myself and then Valen atop, using the Nightlights as rope. The caps of the three hulking mushrooms were close enough that we could easily step from one to the other. But, once my butt had firmly planted in the middle of the first cap, I hadn't dared get close to the edge.

Hair wet and cheeks rosy from our individual dips in the hot spring, we ate a hearty mushroom soup, made from some of the spores Nathyrra had collected on the ground. Now, she sat cross-legged, separating her beautiful long hair as it dried in perfect white waves. I ran a couple of fingers through my brown mess with a jealous frown.

Breaking the silence, I offered up middle watch — trying to damper the eager edge to my tone as they easily agreed to give me the worst of the three watch allocations.

I didn't sleep much before Valen woke me with a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder with a curt nod. He let me know his shift had been uneventful before lying down beside the bundled up drow, with his back to me. I piled my blanket onto my pack and waited for a few moments before grabbing my cloak and the valuable artefact within.

I forced myself to look straight ahead as I manoeuvred from one cap to the other, taking up a position as close to the edge as I dared, to better see the cavern's opening. The Underdark beyond was a black wall of nothing.

Once confident that Valen's breathing had slowed, I pulled the mirror onto my lap. My face, tinged green from the fungi's illumination, stared back at me, a black halo of darkness my backdrop.

I gently caressed the surface, the mirror rippling as my face disappeared in waves, only to be replaced with an entirely new scene.

It was daylight.

Light streamed in from the windows into our living room, the floor freshly cleaned and drying in the morning's rays. The pillows were plump and perfect, propped in their spaces  _just-so._

It was quiet.

I felt a pang of homesickness at the sight before me, my lips curling up in a bittersweet smile as I touched the spot on the couch where I used to always sit.

I clasped at my chest, over the spot where I knew my ring sat.

Then, footsteps.

My head shot up, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the cavern again, squinting in the direction of the cavern entrance.

Nothing.

The footsteps came from the mirror.

I looked down again.

A man I didn't know walked into the living room, manila folder in hand. He placed it down on our dining table carefully, readjusting the fake tulips in the centre.

 _They didn't belong there._  I frowned, taking in this stranger.

He turned around, before making his way to the front door. The mirror knew I wanted to follow him, and it did.

When he pulled the door open, I saw the little logo stitched into his suit and with a pit in my stomach knew who he was.

I took a steady breath in through my nose, biting my bottom lip.

The real estate agent stepped back and waited to show my house.

I clenched my eyes against the image, shaking my head in frustration as a couple of tears escaped.

_I knew this was a possibility. I knew._

_I just wish they'd waited a bit longer for me to find a way home._

I took a deep wavering breath, opening my eyes to an entirely new image.

My parents were enjoying the sunlight, walking along the track near their house. My border collie plodding along excitedly at their side, tongue lolled in a doggy-like smile.

I could see the boundless energy in him as he zigzagged across the path, pulling the lead to its limits.

"Tell him to heel," I admonished the image with what was supposed to be a laugh, but came out more of a sob.

I slapped a hand to my mouth, closing my eyes against the tears that threatened.

My mum muttered something to my dad, eyes on my dog and they laughed. Her hair was overdue for a colour, now embracing more of the grey than brown, and she'd lost some weight, but the sight of her smile brought fresh tears to my eyes. Dad's grey eyes sparkled as he laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Then, footsteps.

It took me a moment to realise it wasn't coming from the mirror this time.

My head shot up and my stomach dropped, tears drying on my cheeks.

I threw my cloak back over the surface of the mirror, stifling the light that shone from the happy image within. Cautious of making too much noise, I gently placed it beside me and willed my breathing to even out. I dropped onto my stomach to better see the new inhabitants of the cavern.

Some of them held torches, swinging them around this way and that as they took in what the space had to offer.

I blinked slowly, letting my eyes adjust.

 _Orcs_.

A group of them.

I held my breath.

None of them were looking up.

They moved quietly into the space. Some dropped their packs and rested on the colourful toadstools, but most moved towards the pool of clean drinking water, uncorking their drinking flasks.

Conscious of making any noise, I shimmied back on my stomach until the light from their torches was gone.

Nathyrra was awake when I reached her side, dull red eyes narrowed and head tilted in question.

I held up my fingers,  _five_ and  _one._

 _Please think I mean six people, not fifty-one._ I bit my lip.

I mouthed the word orcs to her, before waking Valen with a hand on his shoulder and repeating the process.

Guttural grunts in a language I didn't understand —  _my money's on orcish_ — reached our ears as they got comfortable, thinking the cavern uninhabited.

I crept to my pack, the spongy surface dampening my footfalls as I reached for my bow and pulled an arrow carefully from the quiver. I dropped to a knee, shuffling closer to the edge so I could see the group below.

They'd finished filling their flasks and were milling about. Some stretched, some chatted, and some simply waited, kicking at the spores underfoot.

Nathyrra crept to my side.

"Red stools," she whispered lightly in my ear, a hand cupped against my face to keep the sound from travelling. "They'll burst. Poison."

_She couldn't have told me this when I was resting against one earlier today?!_

I trained my arrow on one of the stools with the most orcs near it.

I waited.

I pulled the bow taught.

One of the orcs offered a curt command, and the others all froze.

I froze too, arms straining.

They still didn't look up. Instead, they picked up their belongings and began a steady march back out of the cavern, flasks full and ready for the next leg of their journey.

I relaxed, loosening the arrow as I watched their retreating backs fade into the blackness beyond the cavern.

I waited, alert in case it was some kind of ruse.

"My turn for watch," Nathyrra whispered a few minutes later, standing behind me.

I placed my weapon on the cap's surface, standing and turning towards her. She held my cloak in one hand and the mirror in the other, passing them to me without a word.

Nathyrra shook her head slightly as she turned away.

She returned to the furthermost mushroom to complete the remainder of the night's watch.

Valen offered no input, lying on his back and closing his eyes.

I curled up under my cloak, heart hammering. From the fight that we'd just avoided or from being caught using the mirror, I don't know.

When I eventually fell asleep it was to dreams of my parent's walking on an endless track, laughter in their eyes, under the light of a bright beaming sun.

* * *

**THEN**

Sweat dripped into my eyes.

I blinked against the salty sting, rubbing the back of a hand across my forehead. The cold chill in the air did nothing to help regulate my temperature, it only made my lungs burn.

We'd been walking for hours, my legs and chest aching in protest to the gruelling, never-ending pace that Farghan had set us. His large white dog padded silently by his side, neither of them showing an issue with the walk.

I'd accepted the money for a new bow off Drogan earlier that day, promising to hunt a deer for the school, before grabbing my meagre belongs and making a beeline for the herbalist's shop. Farghan had welcomed me in, noting that I was earlier than we'd agreed the day before with a frown.

I'd apologised before telling him of the task Drogan had set me.

"You need a bow?" He'd asked.

"I need help."

I'd placed the accumulation of Drogan's and Emma's coins on the bench he'd been stripping feathers on. He'd looked over the coins, fingers scratching his stubble before he'd offered me a smile. "That and half our haul."

Now we walked. And mostly uphill…

We slowed every now and again for Farghan to pull some plant from the ground, roots and all, his dog continuing on ahead, used to these kinds of distractions. Each time he gathered one in such a way, he handed it to me with a Wikipedia-esque description of the flora. Then, he would tell me how many more he needed before our return, leaving me to keep an eye out.

Occasionally he'd quiz me on the benefits or known locations of some of them, with the enthusiasm of a teacher in their first year of schooling.

I was pulling out more weeds out than I would have liked, but I was starting to successfully identify the more common ones. I even found a couple of new ones which I recognised from Emma's notes, showing them off with a triumphant smirk and a raised eyebrow, before storing them in a small sack he'd provided for the trip.

So far, most of our journey was pretty similar to my flight  _to_ Hilltop, just with a lot less panic and better company than the ghost of Emma.

We stuck to the main road, bordered on both sides by moss-covered stones that grew in size the further we walked.

Every now and again I'd catch a glimpse of a large bird —  _Emma's hawk?_  — circling ahead, dipping in and out of the treeline silently.

But we'd yet to do any actual hunting. The word 'deer' hadn't even been mentioned since we'd left.

It continued like this for the remainder of the day, and as the cloudy sky started to turn orange with the setting sun, Farghan lead us through a craggy pass, across a trickling stream littered with rocks, and into a sudden wall of pines. HIs dog lopped off ahead of us without a sound.

The canopy of trees overhead became denser the further we progressed, only the occasional ray making its way through to the forest floor. I pulled Emma's coat tighter around my neck, protecting myself against the brisk air, autumn leaves and pine cones crunching underfoot.

"Welcome to the High Forest," Farghan stated simply.

I tugged uncomfortably at my new quiver's strap, with a grimace.

He continued quizzing me as we walked, and I would keep an eye on our surroundings for anything that I could harvest. We stopped only when we heard the bubbling of a stream ahead.

Once we were close enough that I could smell the dampness of the stream, we set up camp.

The routine felt like a mimicry of that fateful night with Emma.

I closed my eyes against the threat of tears, before tilting my head back and taking a deep breath. I could hear the birds preparing for bed, bringing a ghost of a smile to my lips at the memory of Emma pointing above us with a smile on her face. When I opened my eyes to the sight of the overhanging branches of the evergreen pines, birds hopping from place to place, I felt calmer.

Only when we were done did Farghan mention our planned quarry.

"I take it you can't use that thing," he stated, motioning to my bow, which I'd propped against a tree.

I gave a flat smile and a shrug.

He didn't seem put off or surprised by my admission and simply picked up his bow, jutting his chin in the direction of my own, for me to do the same.

For the remainder of the evening, he walked me through the proper stances and poses required for firing a bow, lining me up perpendicular to a nearby tree. I held an arrow in a three-fingered grip, just as he showed me, lined up the tree briefly, and then let go. It hit the tree with a wobble, stuck for a moment, and then fell to the ground.

"Focus only on the bow and your target," Farghan tutted. "Don't see or hear anything else."

I took a deep breath. Closing my eyes momentarily.

I tried again, this time pulling until my shoulders ached, before letting go. It flew wide, but with far more force.

"Ignore everything else," he said forcefully.

I gritted my teeth, kicking a pinecone in his direction. "The only thing distracting me here, is you," I snapped.

"And I told you to ignore me," he shrugged.

With a groan I got back into position, taking a deep breath and focusing on the bow. I breathed through my annoyance until it washed away. I focused on the tree. I pulled back the string. I shot.

It hit  _a_  tree. One about a meter away from the one I was aiming for. But it went the distance.

I grinned.

With a jolt of enthusiasm, I grabbed another arrow. I felt confident in a way I hadn't when training with the militia, holding that bulky sword with the too-long hilt in my hand. Misha seemed at ease, and I'd thought the issue was me. Maybe it was just the weapon…

I pointed the bow to the ground, nocking the arrow with a gentle grip, mindful of my stance. I took a deep breath, pulled back until it hurt, and let go.

It hit the tree — the right tree — with a gentle  _thud_  and stayed there.

Farghan gave a nod and then continued about gathering firewood as I emptied my new quiver with enthusiasm. I was happy to note that more were hitting the tree than missing.

When I was finished, and the sun was almost completely set, I took in the spiky mess of the trunk with pride, admiring the close scattering of arrows.

Farghan sat with his back against another trunk, chewing on some dried fruit.

The shadows the fire cast danced around us.

"Well," Farghan admonished. "You're going to need those arrows to hunt that deer tomorrow."

I frowned at him, as he started settling in for the night, his dog coming to rest by his back with a huff.

With a sigh, I started gathering the arrows.

* * *

**NOTEBOOK EXTRACT**

_A double-spread of Jane's messy handwriting with numbered instructions interrupted here and there with little stick figure drawings._

**Shooting a Bow:**

Stance: Prior to shooting the bow: Stand upright with feet shoulder width apart. Feet at 90 degrees to the target.

Grip: Keep a relaxed grip on the bow handle.

Place the Arrow on the Bow: Turn the bow so it's horizontal and the arrow rest is facing upwards. Place the arrow on the shelf of the arrow rest.  _A crudely drawn scribble of an arrowhead with annotations._ Push the nock of the arrow onto the string between the two nocking points, ensuring that the cock fletch (the odd coloured one) is pointing upward. Bring the bow back to vertical.

Finger Position: Position the fingers on the string with the index finger above the arrow and two fingers below

Draw: Do not grip the arrow with your fingers.  _A drawing of a small stick figure with a scar down his face and a deep frown - Farghan._  Pull back the string using your back muscles, not your bicep/arm.  _Another angry stick figure, this time with arrows sticking out of the ground, all around his feet_. Pull back the string so that the index finger of the pulling hand is under the chin, and the string touches your nose and lips.

Aiming: Using your dominant eye, look down the arrow and align it with the target.

Release: Relax your grip on the string and allow fingers to slip backwards.  _Another stick figure drawing, this time giving a thumbs up, with an arrow sticking out of his forehead._ After shooting, maintain your body's position.

Continue shooting baddies until they're all dead.


	9. Chapter 9

**NOW**

It was deafening.

The maw of the cave was blocked by a thunderous waterfall, the cold mist spraying us as we approached the seemingly dead-end.

I held the metallic helmet before me, the metal cool against my feverishly warm skin.

The fight had been a hard one, Valen once again taking the brunt of it. He didn't seem too worse for wear and was currently sipping a watered down healing potion.

The duergar's bodies lay scattered behind us, four of them in total.

Their leader, Yorag, had addressed Valen, rapping his helmet and questioning where the tiefling's own was. In a tone better fit for discussing the weather, he'd warned us against the mind flayer's inability to tell the difference between slavers and slaves — this bit openly addressed to Nathyrra and I. He'd stressed the importance of flashy headgear like his own, in protecting against the creature's probing.

It had been one of his friends — who'd stood back with a crossbow trained on Valen — who had caused the inevitable trouble. He'd chimed in with a frown, proposing they just do away with Valen and sell us themselves.

Now, Nathyrra had stripped them of anything of worth, before handing me their leader's blood splattered helmet, somewhat begrudgingly.

I took a deep breath, placing the heavy helmet on my head and pretending I couldn't smell the previous owner's sweat and blood. I turned fully to face my companions.

"How do I look?" I opened my arms to my sides, giving a slight tip of my too-heavy head.

"Like you're in charge." Nathyrra nodded her head, arms crossed atop her chest. "Since you wear the helmet, the illithid with consider us your thralls. No self-respecting illithid would lower itself to probe the mind of another thrall."

"So we will be safe, so long as you do not remove your helmet," Valen interjected. "Otherwise they will think nothing of invading your mind and leaving you a slobbering mess of a human for your remaining years." He shrugged casually, as if he'd just told me that rain was expected.

I rolled my eyes, hidden as they were by the helmet.

"So," I smirked, remembering how this conversation could go. "Since you're my thralls, can I get you to do all the cooking and cleaning next time we break camp?" I perked up, pointing a booted foot their way. "I could do with a foot massage!"

Nathyrra groaned, rolling her eyes, but I could see the faint hint of a smile on her lips.

Valen surprised me by offering a short chuckle, quickly looking away and rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I…" he coughed. "I don't think I would make a very good thrall. My demonic blood makes me surly at the best of times."

I lifted an eyebrow at his first open mention of his heritage. He paused, dropping his arm as if noticing his error.

'And if I like my men dark and brooding?' Enserric suddenly shouted at me from the recesses of my mind, causing me to jolt in surprise. 'Say it!'

I spluttered, covering it with a cough, suddenly very uncomfortable.  _Shut it, Enserric._

"Yeah," I coughed again. "I had noticed that…" I finished lamely.

Valen frowned suddenly, noticing my sudden shift in tone. The water crashed against the rocks behind us, filling the awkward silence.

He saved me from my discomfort, motioning towards the waterfall with a flourish. "Please… let us just deal with the situation at hand."

'You're no fun,' Enserric moaned at me. 'Are you at least ready to kill some tentacle-faced monsters?' The longsword continued to me hopefully.

"We'll see," I muttered dismissively to the longsword under my breath, facing the waterfall once more.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, stepping through the illusion.

The water pounded all around me, the air impossibly cold, but when I stepped out into the cavern beyond I was as dry as a bone.

Valen and Nathyrra sidled up to me, equally untouched, taking in the entrance in silence.

Zorvak'Mur, the illithid trading post.

Humanoids of all races milled about aimlessly; eyes vacant and faces slack-jawed. A drow woman passed us by, undeterred by our sudden presence. She'd once been beautiful, but now her leather armour was no more than torn strips of material that hung off her starved body. Her once white hair was grey with grime and shorn to the scalp. The haunty expression I'd come to expect of her race had been replaced by a horrible carelessness for everything around her. She carried a basket of cloth in her hands, idly walking up to a crate and storing the belongings within. Task now complete, she sat on the floor with crossed legs and stared ahead aimlessly.

Tents and lean-tos were set up all around us, hazardously close to the cliff's edge and the black nothingness below. Torches lined our way from the waterfall illusion, leading to a spiral staircase. It was cut into the edge of the same cliff, disappearing into the Underdark's depths. More of the glowing purple crystals that littered Lith My'athar were present here, growing in intensity the closer we got to the staircase.

I gulped.

Two lumbering giants with beetle-like faces and forearms the size of tree trunks stood guard. They stood alongside what could only be a mild flayer.

Its long grey arms ended in black clawed tips, almost lanky enough to graze the knees of its long blue robe. Its skin was grey and mottley, with a sheen that looked like it was damp. But it's  _face_? Its face was the stuff of nightmares, bald and veiny, with milky white slits for eyes. Where its mouth should have been were four long tentacles, all ending in red-stained tips.

The tentacles twitched towards us in nervous agitation as we approached, its long clawed hands clasped behind its back.

It spoke directly in my mind, its hissing voice a booming echo through my brain — where Enserric was a whispered chat just out of view — jolting me in surprise. Neither Valen nor Nathyrra seemed to notice. I shied away from it, momentarily losing step as we approached.

'These are the caves of Zorvak'Mur,' its tentacles reached out to me. I stopped just out of its reach. 'What business do you have here?"

The giant hulking beasts shifted to watch us, their tiny bug-eyes narrowed into red slits. The pincers, which made up the bottom half of their faces, snapped open and shut in quick succession.

I could hear Valen's tail as it lashed about, hitting the floor in a sharp rhythm; the only hint to his discomfort. Nathyrra crossed her arms across her chest.

I gulped.

"I've come to purchase thralls from your actions," my voice bounced back at me inside the helm.

I could hear the controlled, calming breath Valen took by my side.

The mind flayer slowly considered my word before I felt a gentle push on my mind, as it tried to probe my thoughts.

Despite everything I knew, the helmet still didn't feel like it would be enough.

'It is rare that we have human buyers for our thralls, but you would not be the first,' its tentacles all straightened, reaching for my face. 'But your thoughts are hidden to us. You will have to remove your helm before I let you in.'

I held my breath, not expecting such a request.

I racked my memory for what happened next, pushing through the fog.

_Did I remove it? I thought I only removed it when I met with the Elder Brain…_

I could hear the growl growing in Valen's throat, in reply to the tense set of my shoulders.

'Why are you even considering this, you imbecile?' Enserric's voice suddenly cut through the haze the mind flayer had created.

I shook myself out of the stupor, tightening my grip on one of my knives hilts to keep me grounded.

Enserric sighed in relief. 'Little do they know your mind would make a terrible snack for them.'

"I'm here to  _buy_ thralls," I insisted to the mind flayer, with only the slightest waver to my voice. "Not become one."

Enserric gave a content humm. 'Much better.'

I held my breath.

Then, laughter.

It sounded like it came from all around me and yet nowhere, all at once. 'You cannot blame me for trying,' the mind flayer told me lightly as if he's just asked me to pull his finger. 'Very well. You may keep the helm.'

It motioned behind itself with a clawed fingertip, robes shifting as if made from water. 'I will allow you to pass into the outer ring of Zorvak'Mur. But know that the Elder Brain is aware of your presence and knows your thoughts.' You can hear its annoyance. 'Even if you are muted to me.'

We cautiously passed the lumbering monsters — 'Umber hulks', Enserric helpfully supplied — before descending down into the darkness of the outer ring.

The stairs were perfectly sculpted stone, the handrails cold metal twisted into vine-like patterns. I held them in a death-grip as we descended into the purple haze below.

"I do not like the incessant silence," Valen admitted quietly to my back.

I could hear Nathyrra's humm of agreement.

The light grew brighter as we reached the bottom, the glowing faerzress scattering the ground. They formed a luminescent path towards a carved bridge of stone, which stretched across a short chasm. The darkness seemed to press in on all sides.

We crossed the bridge in silence, bypassing an open gate.

A domed purple building, carved entirely from stone, loomed ahead. Small round windows were spaced around the base of the building, yellow and fogged with age. I could see the outline of a great lumbering shape within.

The symbol of a drink was painted onto the timber door.

_I'm going to need one of those later._

We passed the building, moving carefully through the merchant's compound. More of the witless thralls were milling around, moving items from one place to another with no sign of emotion.

Most of the mind flayer merchants ignored us as we passed, only one nodding his head in greeting. His tentacles remained still against his robed chest. We continued past him in silence.

_We need to find the Elder Brain and get this over with._

The path forked and we chose the one on the left, following the sounds of idle chatter, a welcome break from the oppressive silence of the city.

A group of duergar were bidding on a young human male, his expression completely uncaring to his imminent fate. His skin was grey from too long beneath the surface, and his face was lined with dirt. The skin on his chest was thin, showing his ribs, and his stomach was swollen with signs of starvation.

I hurried, hoping to involve myself in this line of bidding. I could see only one more thrall up for action, a young woman whom — for the right price — could be saved and sent to the Seer, to become a loyal follower.

_If I made it in time, did I have enough coin to save another?_

_I needed a new bow, so badly, though…_

I shied away from the utilitarian thought with a grimace.

The bidding was done by the time we arrived, the young male disappearing in a blinding flash of light much to the glee of the helmed dark dwarves.

I found myself relieved I didn't have to make the decision between a weapon upgrade and a human life.

They pushed past me, muttering about getting to the 'The Pits' in time.

Ah, the Fighting Pits. The fate that awaited the last human up for auction.

"Surely there are better pass times for the Seer's Saviour than the human trade?" Valen muttered, his voice a low hush.

I frowned at his disapproving tone. "Better us than them, hmm?" I tilted my chin at the mind flayers, eyes on the final human up for auction today.

The auctioneer led her onto the raised platform, only her waist down covered by loose dirt-covered rags. Blood covered her bare feet and her once blonde hair hung in tattered clumps. Her eyes were vacant, but she still had a warrior's body, her muscles moving beneath her dirty pale skin. It didn't look like she'd been a slave for too long. And if so, they'd kept her active.

I shivered at the thought.

We approached the platform, standing beside two other mind flayers who observed the offering in silent contemplation.

They stepped aside at our arrival, tentacles reaching out to me in interest. I could feel the faint touch of their minds seeking out my own. When they sensed the defenses of my helmet, they withdrew begrudgingly.

'Greetings,' one of them hissed in my mind. My eyes snapped to the one furthest away on the stand, its eyes calculating and tentacles reaching for me. 'It is not often we see one of your kind on that side of this platform.' I could hear its amusement. 'No doubt you are here for the auction?'

I wondered briefly if Valen and Nathyrra were currently privy to the conversation and glanced at them. Valen was tense as ever, his blue eyes darting between each of the mind flayers, hand on his flail. Nathyrra was rolling her shoulders slowly, appearing completely calm and collected.

I felt Valen shift at my glance, fingers twitching towards his weapon with a questioning tilt of his head.

I shook my head.

_Hopefully, it doesn't come to that…_

The auctioneer stepped back, projecting his thoughts out to me and the others if Nathyrra's surprised gasp was anything to go by. 'The next thrall for bid is a human female, quite remarkable for her species. She comes from good healthy stock and would put up a decent fight in The Pits,' it waved a hand at the woman.

I worried at the inside of my lip, grasping my coin purse tighter.

 _I could afford no more than 2,500 gold pieces for her._ I reminded myself.

_If it is not enough, it is simply not enough._

_There are other places my money needs to be spent._

'So cold,' Enserric hummed.

I bit my lip, ignoring the amused longsword.

'We will open the bidding at 1,000 gold pieces.'

I held back a hiss at the steep starting price. I could feel the other mind flayers reaching out to me, curious. I held strong, attempting a more relaxed stance.

Eventually one of them raised a long tentacle. '1,000 for the human female,' it said.

A beat, and then I rose my hand, with a noncommittal shrug. "1,100."

One of them looked at me. 'You must see something worthwhile in this thrall. I offer 1,500.'

_Shit. Just what I wanted to avoid._

The woman stared blankly ahead, chest rising and falling evenly as if we weren't currently bidding for her life.

The auctioneer seemed pleased, reaching out a tentacle and resting it on the thralls chin, tilting her head up for better viewing. '1,500. But surely there is another bid out there.' It looked directly at me. 'I hear 2,000? 2,000 gold for this thrall?'

I raised my lips in an annoyed snarl.

The other mind flayer was quick to meet the offer. 'I'll give you 2,000.'

_Double shit._

I bit my lip, watching the blank-faced woman and begging her forgiveness for whatever was to happen next.

I held off for a few moments and then had to fight the smile that tugged at my lips when one of the mind flayers stepped back with a shake of his head. 'Too steep for me. I drop from the bidding.'

The winning mind flayer's tentacles shivered in excitement.

The auctioneer stared directly at me. 'Can  _you_ beat that offer? Do I hear 2,250?' His tentacle dropped lazily from the woman's chin, slipping down her neck and reaching out for me again.

I gritted my teeth, locking eyes with the remaining bidder as I said: "2,500 gold."

With my words, I felt Enserric blaze from his place on my back, a blinding flash of bright red light that caused the mind flayers to take a surprised step backwards.

"And you'd be smart not to outbid us again, you overgrown calamari," Enserric threatened in a rare show of openness, his voice booming around the cavern.

Valen growled deep in his throat, suddenly right by my side; shoulder to shoulder.

I gulped, tightening my grip around my knife, taking a step back and bracing myself.

 _God's damn it, Enserric!_ I cursed, hoping the weapon could hear my frantic thoughts.  _I can't risk everything just for a stranger._

I felt him tutt at me, like a disappointed mother hen. 'And what would Emma do, hmm?' He admonished me. 'A mantra I've had to hear from you every single second of every single day, since the moment we met.' I felt his annoyance.

I ignored the sword as I took everyone in. They were all frozen in place, bathed in the red magic of my sentient sword.

Surprisingly, they didn't attack.

My competition, tentacles shifting in a steady pattern again, considered me briefly. Then, shaking his head, he waved a hand dismissively.

The auctioneer, seemingly unfazed by the almost-fight, threw up his hands and stared directly at me. 'It looks like we have no more bids. The thrall is yours for the price of 2,500 gold.'

In a trance, I stepped onto the platform, passing the coin to the mind flayer and ignoring the penetrating stares of the others.

As soon as the gold touched his clawed hands, the woman shook her head, a small gasp escaping from her lips.

I tilted my head at her and motioned to a spot to the side of the platform. She followed slowly, head held high and taking us all in with narrowed eyes, the defiance clear. We moved away from the platform and those that would deem to listen in.

She kept her distance, taking us all in with displeasure as she rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, doing her best to hide her bare chest from view. Valen's gaze was politely averted and Nathyrra was already sifting through her pack.

I swallowed, surprised we'd made it to this point.

I opened my mouth, ready to talk before she cut me off with a snarl. "So, you're the one who bought me?" She poked a strong finger into my chest, eyes wild. I stepped back and she threw her arms up, motioning all around. "So what do you plan to do with me, then? Send me to the pits, like they did my husband. Want me to fight for your amusement, huh?" I swallowed the lump in my throat as she spat at my feet. "You disgust me!"

Nathyrra quirked an eyebrow at me over the woman's bare shoulder. She held one of the Duergar slaver's enchanted cloaks in her hands, her expression defiant. I could see her daring me to challenge her. I nodded once.

Nathyrra reached out carefully, her expression kind as she draped the material over the woman's flailing arms. She shied away from the drow's gentleness at first, before collapsing in a heap of tears at our feet. Her body shook with wrenching sobs.

I knelt before her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

I felt the tears threatening, and wondered how I'd ever intended to let this poor woman die for the sake of a few hundred gold.

"What do you intend to do with me?" She finally managed through her heaving sobs. The cloak hung limply across her shoulders, doing nothing to cover her bare chest. She was beyond caring.

Valen cleared his throat.

I pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, reminded of a time Emma had done something similar for me. Enserric was right; Emma would have saved her. I could feel the sword's smug satisfaction in the back of my mind.

I took a shaky breath. "I'm going to give you your freedom."

She shook her head roughly, tears spilling onto her cheeks and creating tracks through the dirt.

It was as if she hadn't heard me.

"Please," she begged, grabbing desperately at my hands and holding them in place. "At least give me a weapon if I'm to fight. I can make you lots of gold. I just need a fighting chance." Her eyes were frantic. Her face a mess of tears, snot, and dirt.

There was no calming her down.

She might not have been under an enchantment anymore, but she was still a slave.

I needed to go about this differently.

"I need you to do something for me," I started slowly.

I felt Valen and Nathyrra lean in closer at my words.

Her sobbing quietened into small gulps of air, as she took my words in.

"There's a drow outpost, called Lith My'athar. Its a couple of days south of here," I cupped her chin with a hand, forcing her to look at me. "I need you to deliver something to the ruling matron there. She'd known as the Seer."

She sobbed again, nodding her head as tears dripped from her chin.

I tightened my grip on her face, pulling her closer to me. "If you do not deliver this, I will know. And I will find you." I tightened my grip on her chin. "Do you understand?"

She nodded again, her whole body shaking.

"Good."

I pulled away, sifting through my satchel for my notebook and pencil, trying to hide my shaking hands. I flicked through the pages before landing on a blank one, where I started writing my letter to the Seer.

Once happy with it, I tore the page free and folded it in quarters, handing it to the woman.

She took it with trembling hands, nodding her head enthusiastically through her silent tears.

"I won't fail you, mistress," she managed through her hiccuping gulps of air.

I winced at her words.

Nathyrra set her up with some rations and a weapon, before she scurried away, running at full speed into the darkness, her new cloak billowing behind her.

I could only hope she successfully completed this one final task as a slave. She would be valuable when the Valsharesses army brought the fight to us.

'Careful," Enserric hummed to me, delighted. 'you're going soft.'

I rolled my eyes and motioned to the others that it was time to move on.

Valen looked openly shaken, but I could see approval in Nathyrra's steely gaze when I glanced her way.

We retraced our earlier steps in silence, crossing a small naturally formed bridge to a wide, circular platform. A portal glowed ahead with a sickly yellow light, guarded by two more umber hulks and a singular mind flayer. The portal was decorated on all sides by stone carvings of giant illithids, all holding chains between them in their clawed grasps.

The mind flayer that guarded the portal met us half-way, its steps rushed as it attempted to cut us off.

_We were in the right place._

'This is the entrance to the Elder Concorde, the sanctum of the Elder Brain,' it hissed. 'You are not allowed here, surfacer. Go back to the centre of town, with the other thrall races.' It waved a dismissive claw at me.

I straightened my shoulders. "I'm here to speak to the Elder Brain," I insisted, proud of how my voice carried.

I could feel it attempting to probe my thoughts, hoping to gain some sense of my intentions.

'None of the thrall races can speak to the Elder Brain,' it insisted. 'State your business and I'll relay your message.' It shrugged it's bony shoulders. 'If worthwhile.'

"I've come to speak about the Valsharess."

Immediately, the mind flayer went into some kind of mental trance. Thin white lids hooded its eyes as it telepathically communicated with the Elder Brain.

Mere seconds later, it gave a surprised start, the communication abruptly ending.

It seemed unsure about what it said next. 'The Elder Brain says you are to be given access to the Elder Concorde.' It held up a finger in warning. 'But, you cannot enter while you are wearing the helm that shields your thoughts.'

I bit my tongue.

'Not this shit again,' Enserric huffed indignantly.

I pushed his concern aside as I felt Nathyrra shift her stance.

_This time I'm sure it's the right choice._

It didn't make removing my only source of protection any easier, though.

I pulled it from my head, pushing aside the damp hair that was now plastered to my forehead.

"Here," I shove the helmet into its awaiting grasp.

I held my breath as it contemplated me, my helmet firmly grasped in its claws.

Then, finally, it motioned with its free hand to the portal. 'Move to the central pad. It will teleport you to the sanctum of the Elder Brain.'

With no further fanfare we all stepped on, Valen and Nathyrra poised and ready for an attack. I shifted my shoulders, preparing for the sight that I knew was going to great us.

There was a low hum and then the world shifted, dissolving around us before rebuilding as something different.

Different and horrible.

The grand hall was almost entirely filled by the mass that was the Elder Brain.

It was as the name suggested, a giant brain — with pulsating blue veins running across the spongy grey surface — which floated in the centre of a stone pool. Water lapped and spilt over the edges of the pool each time one of the long tentacles shifted in the water. Foam floated on the surface.

The floors around us were slick with a sticky substance and water pooled around my feet. Everything smelled damp and rotten.

Suddenly, I could sense a strange alien presence in my head. Poking and prodding.

I could feel it trying to tell me something.

I tilted my head, straining to make it out, but I couldn't hear it clearly.

And then suddenly, everything was too loud.

I clamped my hands to my ears, desperately willing the noise to stop.

Memories that weren't mine flashed before my eyes. Thoughts that didn't belong to me insisted on being heard.

Enserric shouted out desperately, but he was too far away.

I don't know how long passed when I came back to myself with Valen's hand on my shoulder. It could have been only a moment, it could have been an hour. I felt like I'd just woken from a neverending nightmare. Sweat beaded on the tiefling's pale forehead and he breathed deeply. Nathyrra stood back from us, a hand propped against the wall, eyes wide.

I was on my knees in the filthy water.

I pushed back to my feet with a disgusted groan, legs shaking.

I could feel the voices again, but this time they were further away.

They began to shift and merge until, eventually, they formed a single voice. A single entity.

The Elder Brain.

Its words echoed as if spoken from across an endless void. 'You have been given access to the inner sanctum — a rare privilege for a thrall.'

Valen's grip on my shoulder tightened momentarily in a comforting squeeze before he let go.

'We can see many of your thoughts, thrall,' it said. I swallowed nervously. 'We see you are an enemy of the Valsharess, and you know the illithid are her allies. Is that why you have come to see the Overmind of Zorvak'Mur?'

"Yes," I fought for a steady voice. "I want you to withdraw your support."

It seemed unsurprised. 'Zorvak'Mur is only a small part of a larger whole. Throughout the Underdark, the Overminds of many illithid pools have pledged allegiance to the Valsharess. We Overminds now act as one Elder Concorde. Only a consensus of all the Overminds linked through the Elder Concorde can end our alliance.'

"And what do you want from me to convince you?" I pressed, already aware of the price.

I could feel it weighing my pack down.

I suddenly thought of my parents and my dog, walking through the sunlight. I bit my cheek against the threatening tears.

I would see them again.

Laughter echoed all around us. Mocking. Knocking.

I pushed the thoughts of my loved ones aside, locking them in a box — away from the creature's prying eyes — along with everyone else I had lost.

'A thrall could never convince the Elder Concorde of anything… but we of the Zorvak'Mur Overmind could sway the Concorde to abandon the Valsharess.' It seethed. 'The illithid detest the drow; they are not fit to serve as thralls. Yet we have been forced to follow the Valsharess and her army of dark elves despite our hatred of them.'

I narrowed my eyes, waiting.

'We illithid only follow the Valsharess because many of our pods are not strong enough to stand against her pet. If you gave us the power to oppose her, we could withdraw our support.'

"And how do I do that?" I shifted the weight of my pack.

'We once had a winged elf from the surface join the ranks of our thralls. Strange how an entire village of winged elves found themselves below the surface.' I could feel its satisfaction. 'But you already know this.'

I pulled my pack carefully from my back, mindful of the water at our feet, gently removing the wrapped bundle from within.

'The magical mirror the elves used to spy on their enemies would give us the power to stand against the Valsharess,' it hummed in satisfaction, as I unwrapped the bundle, presenting our prize.

"I give you this mirror, I have your word you will not move against Lith My'athar?" I pressed, mirror in hand.

I passed my pack to Valen and stepped towards the murky depths of the pool.

'We would not waste energy lying to a thrall,' I could hear its disgust. 'But we ask one more thing of you. A sign of good faith.'

This stopped me short, mirror poised above the pool.

I wracked my brain for what they could want but came up short.

I did, however, remember the outcome if the deal it didn't go well; the mad fight out of our own minds before trying to escape the city.

And with nothing to show for it, too.

_No, we need this deal to happen._

'Your ring,' it insisted, giving me pause.

I looked down at the cursed ring on my hand, frowning.  _But I couldn't remove it…_

I could feel its dissatisfaction. No, it didn't want  _that_ ring.

"My…" I started, blinking in surprise. I lifted a hand to my chest, where my ring sat on a chain.

The only thing I had left from home.

Valen approached me, my pack slung effortlessly over a broad shoulder. He silently took the mirror, freeing up my hands. A gentle frown — filled with concern and curiosity — marred his features.

I shook my head minutely at the monster before us, clasping my chest.

'We need a sign of goodwill,' the Elder Brain insisted, uncaring. 'The artefact from your world will do nicely.' It paused, before humming. 'And we admit; we're curious.'

In a daze, I loosened my armour, reaching into my neckline and pulling the chain free. I lifted it over my head, hands shaking.

The silver chain caught the dim light of the room, and the white gold band gleamed at me. It was as untarnished as the day it was given to me.

I ran a finger over the engraving within —  _Always_ — biting my lip against the rush of emotions it brought. I scrunched my eyes against the sight of the writhing mass before us.

_I'm sorry._

'Jane…' Enserric started at my pain, his voice gentle.

Not even my real name, spoken for the first time in over a year, could shock me out of my daze.

When I opened my eyes again, they were hard and dry.

I pulled back my arm and tossed the ring and chain towards the pool with a snarl. It sunk into the murky depths and disappeared.

Without looking at him, I snatched the mirror from Valen, ignoring the satisfaction that oozed from the Elder Brain.

I placed the mirror in the pool, sickened at the thickness of the water.

My ring's final resting place. Here; amongst all of this evil.

I shook my head, hissing only; "Here."

The mirror floated for a brief second on the surface of the pool's lapping goo. It quickly began to melt and dissolve, the water bubbling all around it. Soon, there was nothing left.

'Return to your Seer, thrall,' the Elder Brain was done with us. 'Inform her that the Valsharess no longer has the support of the Elder Concorde or the illithid.'

I should have felt satisfaction; our first big win. But I felt only numb. All of the power had leached from my body. This world — full of darkness and death — had taken the only thing I had left from my world.

And then, the room dissolved before us as we were teleported away.

* * *

**THEN**

The weeks passed, and then the months. Early autumn turning into winter. My training became both more demanding, yet easier to face.

The roundness fell away from my face and I learnt to sew, taking in my jeans at the waist, before giving up on them entirely and buying a new pair of leather breeches.

The leaves fell from the trees and then it started snowing in earnest, a constant blanket of white covering the town and never letting up.

With the snow came a stronger determination to train.

It wouldn't be long.

I hunted regularly with Farghan and his winter wolf —  _definitely_ not a dog. Our prey moving on from rabbits and deer to feral wolves and giant spiders. The latter dealt with, with equal levels of determination and shrill screaming.

I'd continued training with the guards, but had taken up archery practice in place of the blade with Misha.

Every now and again I would still run drills with her and the others, using one of the small knives Farghan had crafted for me, instead. I'd occasionally use them for their intended purpose; throwing. But I hadn't taken to it like I had archery and it fell further and further down my list of priorities.

Every day that I wasn't out with Farghan, I would head out with the guards, running the path between Hilltop and Blumberg in the freezing cold, lungs burning with cold.

Autumn held very little excitement, but as winter settled in, the forest's inhabitants started getting braver.

It was on one of those trips that I was in my first real fight, hiding behind a row of armed guards with my bow in hand as I watched them take down a band of attacking goblins. One particularly agile one had managed to get behind their lines, Misha felling him as I fumbled with my knife.

The second attack I was more prepared for, getting off a couple of shots and taking some of the shrill little goblins down. I'd celebrated in the 'Hall with some of the guards that night. They'd shouted me an endless supply of ale, and I'd tried my best to pretend that I hadn't just killed something. Most of the evening was a blur, but I still faintly recalled attempting to teach the song Wonderwall to some of the more vocal guards towards the end of the night.

When we were eventually attacked by a party of kobolds on one of our runs, I was ready. For the first time, I was an asset in the fight, killing my share of the scaly reptilian creatures, with a cold and detached determination.

After that fight, I took a particular interest in their bodies, spending as much time as I could studying them as the other guards cleaned up and I collected my arrows from the dead.

The next night I went out on my own for the first time, sneaking past our guard on watch, and tracking the few creatures that had escaped the fight to a nearby cave. I'd crept in, slaughtering them in their sleep.

The first one had been the hardest.

I spent hours looking over their bodies for weaknesses, studying my enemy so that they couldn't ever get the drop on me. I left before the sun rose, Emma's hawk — now a constant, if distant, companion — dipping in and out of the trees ahead of me as I snuck back into camp and pretended to wake with the rest. I'd washed their blood out from under my nails before breakfast.

At the school, Drogan was as distant as ever.

He would occasionally task me with something mundane whilst he trained the others with a heavy hand. The closest I got to his particular brand of training was on a particularly cold winter day. I was tasked with tying Misha's hands behind her back so she could complete a stupidly dangerous task for him. We'd watched her, on the outskirts of the town — an arrow nocked to my bow, just in case — as she'd charged her way through a band of goblins to collect a particularly ordinary rock Drogan had requested.

Once she had the rock in her mouth, she'd charged right back at us, unscathed.

Dorna, Xanos and I had finished them off, protecting Misha in her vulnerable state.

I stockpiled my coins, picking up as many odd-jobs as I could around town in my limited free time. I collected hides for the tanner, meat for the tavern's cook, herbs for Farghan, poisonous plants for the shady merchant at the 'Cauldron, and crafted arrows for the militia.

I travelled back to the kobold's cave three times more — careful never to be stuck out there at night, alone. I took everything of worth from their corpses, selling them to Fiona, the smith. She didn't ask where they came from. I didn't tell her.

The third time, on my way back, I'd heard a horrible scream in the distance. At first, I'd frozen, fearing the worst. But then I realised what it was.

It was an animal in pain.

I felt my heart clench and considered my options for only a moment.

I'd dropped the kobold's belongings in the snow, and had darted through the trees towards it, drawing my bow as I'd run, slowing only when the sounds had suddenly stopped.

I'd held my breath, listening for any clues as to what I had heard.

Then, a twig had snapped and I realised I was being attacked. No time to counter, a woman had pounced at me from the shadows.

A dryad, I now knew.

She'd pinned me to the ground, her tanned face an inch from my own. Her impossibly green eyes had borne into my own, her bark-like hair tickling my face. She'd been smiling, mirth in her eyes as we took each other in.

We'd stared at each other in silence before she'd given me a kiss on the cheek and thanked me in a soft lilting voice. With a laugh, she'd disappeared as quickly as she'd appeared, leaving behind a chalice made of wood — the same tint as her skin — in the snow beside me.

I'd searched for the source of the initial noise, but had found nothing.

I'd relayed my story to Drogan that same night, who had listened intently. He'd looked my chalice over with a critical gaze, before taking a tentative sip.

I'd been shocked at the sound of him swallowing, despite it having been empty a moment before.

He'd dragged a hand over his smiling mouth, handing it back to me. He patted me on the back, a rare show of appreciation.

"You must have done something right, to have gained a dryad's favour," he admonished. "She must have been testing you. Keep it. It will grant you greater endurance when you need it."

I discovered that a single sip — all that the chalice would give, once a day — helped me through my afternoon slump, pushing me through my increasingly long days.

I'd found myself in a rhythm of sorts, always preparing myself for the impending fight, so that I could survive it. Always at the back of my mind was the hope that when this was all done and dusted, I could return home.

Now, I sat at The Caldron on a rare night out, thinking over how far I'd come — and how far I had to go — with a drink untouched in hand. Home not far from my thoughts.

Xanos and Dorna sat across from me, onto their second or third round. I listened as they jested about "dear Misha" failing her latest test, a smile lighting up Xanos' face at the young woman's misfortune.

I grimaced, remembered the sound of her slamming her door across the hall from me earlier that day, as I'd prepared to go out for the evening.

_So that's what that had been about…_

"Like you'd've done better!" Dorna scoffed at him, motioning to the bar wench, Jill, that she was almost ready for a top-up.

Jill's usually pale cheeks were flushed red, as she motioned in annoyance at the busy table she was currently serving.

"Can't get good service," Dorna muttered as Xanos spoke over her.

"On the contrary! I tend to do exactly what Master Drogan asks me to do. If he says to rescue the goblin child, then I'll rescue the goblin child. It is not so difficult." He puffed his chest out.

I scoffed, remembering a time not so long ago when he'd used up all of his focus crystals teleporting out of a sticky situation he kept charging back into. After the third one, Drogan had told him he would get no more, in front of everyone.

I'd caught him trying to jimmy my door open that night and had made sure to keep my own single one nearby ever since.

He glanced my way, frowning at my open scoff.

"Hmph," Dorna jeered. "I somehow doubt Drogan would ask you to rescue anything that he didn't expect you to  _try_  to rob, first." She looked over her almost empty glass at me, no-doubt remembering the same night.

He threw back his head and laughed, patting Dorna on the back a little too roughly. "You're the aspiring thief here, Dorna. Not I!"

"Oh, we know," I muttered into my cup with a smirk, earning a mischievous grin from Dorna.

I finished the last of my drink and placed it roughly onto the table with a smile at the two of them.

"Well, thanks for shouting the drink," I started. They both scoffed. "But that's it for me. I've got an early morning with Farghan."

Dorna wolf whistled whilst Xanos groaned.

"I like a man with scars," she hummed with a cheeky grin.

I lifted an eyebrow at her, before standing.

"Typical Emma," Xanos said. "Ready to go before the night has even started." He rolled his eyes towards Dorna. "At least  _you_  know how to have some fun."

I very pointedly did not put any coins down on the table before leaving, their undignified shouts following me out.

I grabbed my cloak from the rack by the door and rugged up, before pushing out into the chill.

The wind howled at me, and the snow crunched underfoot. I could faintly make out the lights from the school in the distance.

Nobody was around. Nobody was stupid enough to be caught outside long, in this cold.

Despite all of my hard work, I still wasn't prepared the next morning, when we were attacked.

But thank shit I wasn't hungover like those idiots were.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_A dirty page, once torn from the notebook, has been wedged back into place. The edges of the paper are frayed and stained with what appears to be droplets of water._

_There's a note, written in Jane's messy scrawl. It's harder to read than usual and looks like it's been written with a shaky hand._

Seer,

This woman was being auctioned off in Zorvak'Mur.

Pleases give her sanctuary. She needs help. The kind I think you can give.

She appears to be a warrior. Imloth will be able to put her to good use.

Thanks,

Emma


	10. Chapter 10

**NOW**

The darkness was everywhere.

It was everything. It was overwhelming. It was never ending.

But the overwhelming darkness wasn't alone in the Underdark. It had a companion. An insidious, ever present accomplice.

Unnerving, unending, deafening silence.

We'd been on the move for the better part of the day; following Nathyrra confident stride from the Illithid trading post to the Beholder's caverns. Through narrow tunnels and wide passages, across large open cathedrals of stone and winding stalagmite mazes. The one constant had been the infinite silent darkness.

That was, at least, until Valen decided to interrupt it.

He tapped his armoured foot in a steady beat — hard metal against harder stone. His pitch was steady as he hummed a simple tune.

And then… lyrics.

"They say that a lass born in Sigil." Valen's deep timbre carried easily, uncaring as he was of his audience.

For what felt like the hundredth time, I pressed one of the strange buttons on the alien machine that the drow and I crowded around. We watched with bated breaths as the panel lit up in reply. The light around one symbol dulled into darkness, the one next to it lighting up in its place.

Nathyrra's grimace matched my own.

It had moved the wrong way —  _again_.

Valen withheld his steady beat, detached from our frustrated ministrations of the panel.

"Will place her heart in a box," he continued.

Trying my best to ignore him, I pressed the next button.

Nathyrra nodded as the light moved back in the correct direction. I couldn't help the grin that pulled at my lips, my deep frown finally relaxing.

I applied the same logic to the next row of lines.

The grimace was quick to return, as it did the opposite of what I'd expected.

My work undone, I whacked the side of the panel with an open palm. Hissing as my hand connected with the cold stone.

"Piece of shit," I uttered, massaging my palm.

Nathyrra pushed forward, giving herself a better view of the panel, her brow drawn in concentration.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, willing the frustration to pass.

I felt Nathyrra lean across me as she pressed another button.

Ready, I opened my eyes, taking stock of the panel's lights.

Nodding to myself, I selected a new button — only with a little more force than necessary.

_Yep; it was definitely moving the right way again!_

"The key don't you see…"

I bit my lip, willing my mind to focus on the panel and not the tiefling's rumbling tone.

Another button and another row of symbols lit up on the strange device's panel.

The buttons flashed a deeper colour.

I forced myself to hold off on the celebrations.

_One more row…_

I found myself staring at the panel, the lights all blurring into one.

_Where was I up to, again?_

Valen's voice rose. "It comes with a fee," he hummed, uncaring to our frustrated ministrations of the panel.

Unable to take it any longer, I spun away from the panel, breathing heavily through my nose.

"You're worse than Deekin!" I admonished. I did my best to ignore the bitter pang as the kobold bard's name left my lips.

I waved a hand in Valen's smirking face. It surprised me to see he was already facing us — probably watching the tense set of my back become worse and worse, the entire time.

He shrugged, unapologetic. HIs smirk was still firmly in place.

Nathyrra ignored my outburst, still frowning down at the panel with a hand on her chin, unfazed by Valen's singing.

I felt a pang of envy at her single-minded focus.

Rather than better myself and attempt the same level of concentration, I lent into the frustration; welcoming a source to direct it at.

I pointed at the magical control panel with choppy motions, eyes never leaving the tiefling's easy smirk. "You think you could do a better job?" I pressed through gritted teeth.

The control panel had been designed to control a shadow bridge, which — if successfully activated — would help us cross the giant chasm to the beholder's hive.

 _If_  we could line the symbols up on the screen properly.

However — if my memory served me — if we pressed the final button and got it wrong, it would send a jolt of electricity into the user.

Probably killing them.

But Nathyrra and Valen didn't know that last part, yet — and I had no logical way of warning them without showing my hand.

Which is why I was the only one currently on edge.

"You ladies seem to have it under control," was Valen's only input on the matter.

Almost an hour later — but it could have been a lifetime, in this place with no light — Valen's singing reduced to a hum, and even cool Nathyrra's patience wearing thin, we finally lined up all of the symbols on the glowing stone tablet.

I couldn't help the triumphant shout that escaped my lips. Nathyrra wasn't nearly as open with her celebrations, merely offering me a small smile.

Valen approached with a curious tilt of his head at the happy sound.

With a cocky flourish, I stood back and allowed Valen the honour of pressing the button that would either activate the bridge or potentially kill him.

I barely tensed when he pressed his palm to the pad.

Thankfully, it activated the bridge.

With a deep rumble, the shadowy expanse before us shifted and multiplied, solidifying into a smooth onyx bridge.

We picked up our belongings, the dragging of our feet from earlier that day forgotten. I placed a tentative toe on the shifting bridge, and — upon meeting solid ground — continued a little less cautiously.

It was narrow, so we were forced to walk in single file; Valen in front and Nathyrra taking up the rear guard.

The edges of the bridge seemed to shift and fade when I caught sight of it in my peripheral.

I did all I could to look directly ahead, ignoring the darkness that pressed in on all sides, doing my best not to think about the open expanse below.

I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. My stomach dropped and I gasped in surprises when I realised that the ground — when focused on — was still somewhat transparent.

_Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down._

Eyes darting straight ahead, I instead focused on the gentle sway of Valen's tail.

_Left, right, left, right._

"So," I started slowly, eyes still firmly planted on him. "I've fought a couple of these floating peepers before. But I've always been able to keep my distance." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Doubt I'll be able to do the same on their home turf. Any advise?"

_Left, right, left, right._

"Try not to hit us," Nathyrra offered.

She'd made the comment lightly, a playful lilt to her tone —  _I think_  — but it still stung. I'd never  _actually_ hit any of my companions before, but I'd certainly waited out my share of fights because I had not wanted to risk it.

_Left, right, left, right._

Suddenly, Valen looked back at me over his shoulder, my enchanted quiver's green light throwing shadows across the harsh planes of his face.

I quickly snapped my eyes up to his own.

He'd definitely caught me staring.

Ignoring my rising blush, he offered his input: "And keep your eyes peeled," he stated, completely deadpan.

Rolling my eyes at his equivalent of a dad-joke, I turned away from the smiling tiefling to hide the growing burning in my cheeks. I craned my head to see the hilt of my longsword, over my shoulder. "Any wisdom, Enserric?"

The sword flared red as he contemplated my question.

"You're asking a sword for advice?" He mused out loud, his tone sly. I tilted my head back with a sigh, suddenly knowing what was coming. "Here's some advice; don't do that." I could feel the smug satisfaction radiating from him.

I gave a sarcastic laugh, shaking my head at Valen's answering smile.

"Wow. Isn't everybody just so fricken plucky today?" I managed through the smile that tugged at the corner of my lips.

Now, faced with this realisation, it wasn't hard to see why, earlier, Valen had been singing so easily. Why Nathyrra had made her coy joke.

We'd had our first big win — the illithid no longer supporting our enemy — and the elevation of that huge success was contagious.

My hand flew to my chest, where my ring had once sat.

Immediately my frown returned, and the excited flutter in my chest disappeared.

I worried at my lip as I considered all we still had to face in the Underdark. And then beyond that.

'Let them have their fun,' Enserric admonished, his warning tone ringing through my mind.

Smile gone, the entrance to the beholder's hive loomed over Valen's shoulder, a round gaping maw in an otherwise plain wall of stone.

The wall extended as high as I could see.

As we approached, the bridge started to widen.

"I must admit," Valen said, noting my change in demeanour as he unclasped his flail. "It is nice to be making progress."

I nodded slowly.

Pulling my bow from my back, I loosely nocked a poison-tipped arrow in place.

Sidling up beside me, Nathyrra mutter a few words in an arcane language under her breath. I suddenly smelt the bitter tang of licorice and felt the gentle tingle of the drow's magic. Lights shimmered all around me, before leaching into my skin and fading entirely from sight.

Immediately, I felt my speed increase, and I used the momentum of the spell to carry me to Valen's side, facing the hive's entrance side on.

I drew my bow, muscles aching with the strain after the already long day's trek.

Valen tensed, shifting his stance.

A moment later I heard the horrible screeching that had set Valen on edge; a shrill piercing noise that sent goosebumps up my spine.

The darkness ahead was broken by glowing red dots. They blinked in and out of existence.

There were so many.

I took a deep breath.

My fear of the unknown depths below us forgotten, we faced against the Beholders with renewed determination.

I released the arrow and we attacked.

* * *

**THEN**

It was a day like any other.

A long day tracking deer with Farghan — no luck, but I'd nervously noted increased kobold tracks in the snow — ending in an early night after a quick drink with Dorna and Xanos.

It was followed by a morning I'd been dreading for months.

I heard a commotion from downstairs —  _something falling over?_  — and initially disregarded it as a dream my increasingly anxious mind had conjured.

Besides, the school was always filled with noise first thing in the morning.

I burrowed deeper into my bed, pulling the blanket tight around my chin to keep the precious warmth in.

But then there'd been frantic knocking at my door, followed by: "Damn it, Emma!" Xanos' voice.

I threw the covers back, eyes wide and heart hammering in my chest. It was happening.

"Coming!" I called back, through a tight throat.

The hammering on my door didn't let up as I threw my clothes on in a mad rush.

When I threw my door open my leather vest was askew and only half tied, and my hair was a tangled mess. My quiver was only half full — intending to make more with Farghan today — and my bow was hung awkwardly over my shoulder. One hand on the now open door, the other was still tightening my belt, knives already attached.

I opened it to a wide-eyes Xanos — greener than usual — with a dagger in hand. Dorna was on her knees, a lockpick in hand and another in her mouth, with a battleaxe strapped to her back. Dark circles sat beneath her wide, bloodshot eyes.

Misha's door, opposite to mine, opened only a moment later. Her blonde bob was a rare mess, but her face was set. She entered the hall with the rest of us, pulling her door shut quietly behind her. She held her longsword in hand but wasn't dressed for battle; just a simple tunic and boots.

"Do you think this is your final test, Emma?" Misha asked me with wide eyes. "Drogan said it was coming up."

I shook my head quickly, worrying at my lip.

Dorna stood up with a groan, putting her lock picks away as she drew her short sword. "Didn't I tell you last night I wanted something exciting to happen in Hilltop, Xanos?"

"Knew this was your fault somehow," he managed, eyes flicking between us and the closed door at the bottom of the stairs.

My heart was pounding in my ears as I drew my bow, frowning towards the stairs as the sound of items being thrown about grew louder. I carefully nocked an arrow, holding it loosely in place.

Then, a shrill shout. Something in pain.

I strained my ears.

"Kobolds," I hissed in warning.

Her stance determined, Misha immediately touched a focus crystal to her ring, disappearing in a flash of light to help Drogan.

With a roll of her bloodshot eyes, Dorna was quick to follow in her stead.

I could hear more shrill shouts as the kobolds realised that they were suddenly facing more resistance.

Xanos glanced at me with a forced grin. "Don't suppose you want to share your crystal?"

I huffed at him, pulling his broad arm in my direction as I started jogging to the stairs. "Come on!" I hissed.

I pushed open the door with my back, showing only the slightest hesitance, before jumping aside to let Xanos charge ahead.

I pulled back an arrow, taking stock of the room, my back flush against the door and stairs; my escape, if I needed it. Then it was a quick dash up the hall to my room, and straight out the window to Farghan's, the back way — just like I'd practised.

The stench of magic and burning flesh permeated the room.

Drogan stood in the middle of the main hall, an orb of protective magic glowing around him as the kobolds closed in.

"Back with you!" he shouted gruffly between spells, his lips set in a determined scowl.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, but it looked like he currently had the room under control.

Dorna and Misha were fighting hand-to-hand with three of the creatures, using the table to create distance between the bulk of them.

There were so many of them. More than I'd ever laid eyes on in one place.

The scaly reptilian creatures crowded the old dwarf, more of them pouring into the room as I watched. Each time one fell, another entered with a screech.

Drogan threw out his arms, glowing blue orbs flying from his fingers and into the charging kobolds, killing them instantly.

I gaped at the raw power; the show of magic, unlike anything I'd ever seen Xanos conjure before.

Xanos was already casting, arms across his chest and eyes shut, his accented voice barely reaching my ears over the sounds all around us. The half-orc sorcerer was standing out in the open —  _no wonder he went through so many crystals!_  — his teeth bared in a snarl as he spat out the arcane words required for his spell.

A glimmer of lights surrounded him before sinking into his flesh and disappearing. Protection sorted, he opened his eyes and singled out a kobold with a pointed green finger and began another incantation — a desperate tinge to his voice as he tripped over his words in his panic.

No time to worry about the half-orc, I narrowed my eyes as I started counting the kobolds.

Gritting my teeth, I ducked quickly behind a pillar as soon as I noticed that some of them held crossbows in their small clawed hands, appraising the room.

I heard Misha shout out — in pain or anger I didn't know.

 _She'll be fine,_ I reminded myself between too-loud breaths.

I held my arrow in place but didn't draw my bow. I wasn't going to give away my location until I had to.

A glimmer and then the  _woosh_ of a spell.

I ducked my head back around the pillar to get another look at the room.

_Just what I was looking for._

It had been the telltale sound of a teleportation spell.

I lined up the shot.

A kobold materialised into the room, armed with a glowing green knife. It —  _he?_ — appeared directly behind Drogan with a feral hiss.

I held my arrow steady — forcing myself to take deep, even breaths — just as Farghan had taught me.

I watched the kobold down the length of my bow, ignoring all of the shouting around me.

I watched as the kobold lined Drogan up with an excited  _yip_.

And I waited as it drew its little spindly arm back and trust the blade through the lower half of Drogan's back.

I flinched.

The protective orb of magic that had surrounded Drogan a moment before spluttered and disappeared.

The dwarf gave a short bellow, throwing his arms back and losing focus on his spell as he slumped to the ground. The kobold threw its arms in the air in celebration.

I heard Misha cry out his name in alarm.

I pushed through the guilt as I let go of my arrow, hitting the kobold straight and true through the centre of its small scaly neck.

Instantly dead, it fell to the floor without a sound.

With perfectly horrible timing, a woman charged through the open doorway with a bellow, snow clinging to her hair. She slashed at three kobolds with a single swing of her huge weapon, before sending another flying with a powerful shove of her shoulder.

Her blond hair was pulled back, giving a clear view of her delicate elven features, all splattered with blood.

She'd fought her way into the school.

 _Hilltop was already under attack_.

Xanos finally cast a successful offensive spell, the magic missiles seeking out those kobolds closest to him.

On the other side of the room, Dorna was fighting with a renewed determination, her short sword from earlier replaced by a battleaxe covered in runes. With a shout, she kicked a chair at two incoming kobolds, before digging her weapon into them.

Misha battled alongside the mysterious elf, fighting to protect Drogan's still form.

I drew another arrow and helped them finish off the kobolds, picking off those with the crossbows first, occasionally pausing to duck behind the pillar.

When the battle was finally won, the others rushed to Drogan's side, the tall elf's weapon still in hands.

"That's it?" She watched the open doorway, eyes wide as she stood guard over Drogan's body. "The little beasts are all gone?"

Knowing the battle was won, I took a moment to place the bow back on my shoulder.

Whilst she was distracted, I risked a slight detour to pick up the green glowing blade from the kobold-turned-assassin. I pulled out one of my knives and considered it for a moment, before tossing it to the floor and replacing it with the kobold's better one.

As an afterthought, I pulled his coin purse loose and shoved it into my belt with a hurried glance in my companion's direction.

Then, wiping the sweat from my forehead, I approached the others, chest heaving as I willed my breathing to even out and my heart to slow.

Drogan was still, lying on his side in a crumpled heap as blood pooled from the wound on his back. His arm was twisted, reaching for the injury, already drenched red. Eyes scrunched shut, his expression was pinched in pain, sweat beading on his skin.

"I can only imagine what they did to make him fall," the elf admonished, turning her pointed chin down to observe the dwarf.

 _Poison!_ The answer seemed simple, but the word died on my lips.  _Don't show your hand._

The elf knelt carefully by Drogan's side to investigate.

Drogan barely stirred at her approach, just the barest of agitated twitches — as if caught in a bad dream. She placed her huge blade on the ground, still within easy reach.

Xanos and Dorna were leaning in close, crowding the two of them, as the elf touched a finger carefully to his back.

She pulled it away and gave it a tentative sniff.

I jumped as Misha slammed the door shut, bolting it in place.

"Poison?" The elf gasped. I did my best to feint surprise with the others. "I cannot tell the type, but I should be able to counter it." She lent in and muttered something comforting into his ear, patting him gently — and with obvious familiarity — on his shoulder.

She pulled something from a pouch at her waist and clasped it in her hands in a white-knuckled grip, before muttering some words with a bowed head and closed eyes. Her words were too quiet to make out, but I immediately felt the uncomfortable tingle of magic on the back of my neck.

As she worked, I found myself mesmerized by the severe tilt of her eyes, lidded as they were by long dark lashes. They fluttered against her rosy cheekbones, and I followed their harsh angles to the tips of her impossibly pointed ears. Despite her obvious strength — my eyes roamed back to her greatsword in wonder — she was lithe, limbs thin and long.

She wasn't what I'd been expecting of an elf.

_She looks so… alien._

Unfazed by our staring, she finished her muttering with an audible "Thank you, Mystra." Spell — or prayer, as it now seemed — complete, a white light enveloped Drogan, before being absorbed by his skin.

Nothing else happened.

"Nothing?" the eld admonished, eyes wide. "The poison resists? How?" She finally seemed to look over each of us. We stared back with varying degrees of surprise and concern.

I frowned when her eyes found my own and held.

Uncomfortable, I muttered; "Not like kobolds to have a complex toxin like that, I take it?"

She nodded, eyes darting around and focusing on everything and nothing, as she considered the facts. "How could they have acquired such a poison?" She considered Drogan. "And why did they come all this way just to strike you down?"

"Thanks for your help and all, but," Dorna started, before being cut off by Xanos' booming voice.

"But who in the nine hells are you?" the half-orc finished.

"I haven't seen you around town," Dorna continued for him, confirming my suspicion.

There'd been no elves in town.

I'd kept my eye out for her, hoping her presence would serve as an early warning.

"I find it a little suspicious that some  _helpful stranger_ would show up just as these creatures attack, eh?" Xanos continued, stepping forward until he towered over the elf and Drogan, chest puffed out.

"How rude," Misha's frown was deep as she stepped into the tight circle that surrounded the injured dwarf, pressing a gentle hand against the elf's upper arm. "This lady aided us and you pay her back with suspicion?"

"Rude or not, I'd still like an answer," Dorna snapped at Misha, shifting her gaze to the elf and making it very apparent that she was still holding her axe. "You have remarkable timing, elf."

The elf in question observed all of this with a blank face, neither bemused nor concerned. She held my gaze as she picked up her weapon and resheathed it at her side. "Of course you're suspicious. I would be as well, were I in your shoes." She bowed her head. "My name is Ayala Windspear."

"And what brings you to our home?" I immediately pressed, already familiar with the tale I would get.

She nodded. "I have been following the tracks of these kobolds for almost two days now," she observed the bodies that littered the room. "I thought it odd that they would range so far from their home caves in the Nether Mountains."

I nodded, having noticed the same thing. I crossed my arms across my chest to hide the shaking of my hands. "They've become increasingly confident over the last few weeks," I agreed.

"I never imagined they would do something like this," she continued. "As soon as I realised they were heading for Hilltop I came as quickly as I could… but too late." She shook her head, eyes roaming back to Drogan's twitching form.

"So you came through the town, straight to our school?" I pressed with a raised brow, knowing full well that the town beyond our closed door was still fighting.

_Would the outcome for the town change if I just stayed inside, I wonder?_

"Shouldn't we do something?" Misha pressed, her face pinched in panic.

Dorna ignored the younger woman. "Why were you following them, to begin with?" She pressed the elf.

She gave a small smile and a shrug. "I was passing through. It's my responsibility to take note of strange occurrences and investigate them. No matter how seemingly insignificant."

Dorna scrunched up her face, her lips curled down in confusion. She wasn't buying it. "What do you mean it's your  _responsibility_?"

"She's a Harper," I cut in over the end of Dorna's sentence, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.

I saw she'd already opened her mouth to answer Dorna, before darting her head back in my direction in surprise. "Why, yes. Yes I am." She tilted her head. "As is Drogan. But I suspect you already knew that." She seemed to take me in afresh.

I'd impressed her.

I smirked, shrugging a shoulder and trying for cool and casual.

My fellow students all observed me with varying degrees of surprise on their faces.

"Aren't the Harpers some kind of secret society, sworn to fight evil, or some such?" Xanos scoffed. "Not very secret, are they?" The last bit was a mumbled aside in my direction.

She pursed her lips. "It may be one such enemy that is behind this — obviously targeted — attack."

A gasp from Drogan —  _when did he wake?_

"I believe," he gasped again. "I can shed some light on that."

"Master Drogan," Dorna and Misha collectively gasped, crowding him once more. Xanos managed a toothy grin, despite himself.

"Mystra be praised," Ayala breathed.

Drogan pushed himself into a leaning position, as Misha eased an arm around his back, pushing a hand against his wound.

"It was the artefacts. They were after the artefacts," he managed to ground out to the frowning elf. "They've been stolen. All four of them. I could do nothing." He gave a wracking cough, before spitting a wad of blood onto the already stained timber beside him.

Ayala nodded in understanding, her obvious suspicions confirmed. "But how did anyone find out," I tensed as her eyes darted momentarily to me and then back to the dwarf.

I swallowed.

Stepping forward I forced myself to focus only on the present. Not on what was about to come.

_There's so much to do…_

"Artefacts?" I pressed, filling what should have been Emma's role with a pit in my stomach.

And so they told us about the dangerous items, four of which the Harpers had trusted to Drogan's care. I already had them listed in my notebook under the title "the MacGuffins".

Ayala offered to stay and tend to Drogan's wounds. And Drogan — against all logic — insisted I was best suited for this task.

"But why me?" I finally pressed at the surprised look on both Dorna and Xanos' faces. I tried not to flinch at the open hurt in Misha's eyes. "This is obviously important."

Drogan and I considered each other for a moment, the others waiting expectantly.

And finally; "You will do," he paused for breath. "What needs to be done."

I swallowed, knowing his words to be the truth of it.

 _This is what you've been training for._ I squared my shoulders.

"Do me proud," Drogan finally managed through a pained gasp. The command in his tone was clear.

I felt my chest clench.

What he needed to say done, he let his eyes fall shut and lent into Misha's side.

And so, with my insistanance that Misha and Ayala would be all the protection the school needed, Dorna, Xanos and I retreated back to our rooms to properly change and equip ourselves.

Then, with a final word from Ayala about some herbs she required to ensure Drogan's stability — all of which I knew Farghan had on hand — we left the relative safety of our school behind.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_A page, written in Jane's usually messy handwriting. It looks like she's spent some time on this half page, as she's gone to extra effort to make her writing legible._

_Given the nature of the content, it's probably from a particularly uneventful watch._

**Don't Look for Beauty in the Eye of a Beholder, A Poem:**

One stalk to charm,

One to stop you in your track.

One stalk to cause alarm,

One to make you laid back.

One stalk to slow you down,

One to lift you up.

One stalk to cause sleep…

_Here it looks like Jane has tried a few different lines before heavily crossing them out. The word 'stiffening' has especially heavy lines across it._

_The final list is written in her usual hasty scrawl, after giving up on the poem:_

**They also have:**

Petrification Ray

Disintegration Ray

Death Ray


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

**NOW**

Only two days prior, we'd saved a group of kobolds slaves, killed all of the Valsharess' troops in the beholder caverns, and then killed the eye tyrant and all of her friends.

Battle won, as we searched the Eye Tyran's chambers for anything of worth, Nathyrra had shown a particular interest in a large seam in the otherwise perfectly circular stone chamber. It was just big enough for Valen to squeeze through without his emerald full-plate on if required. She had called for our attention, drawing her short sword slowly past the opening and watching with a tilt to her head as her blade's magically enhanced glow dulled on every pass of the gap.

With deliberation that had been purely for show, I'd insisted that anything in there wasn't worth the risk, and we'd moved into a different room — as far from the wide-eyed corpses as possible — to sleep and recuperate.

We'd fared fairly well against the eye tyrant and her hive — shots to the eye being easier than usual, given the physical makeup of our enemy.

There had only been one particularly awkward instance in which I'd become a little confused, firing a volley of shots directly at Nathyrra, thinking her one of the Valsharess' Red Sisters.

Thankfully, Valen, who had looked suddenly like a demon summoned straight out of hell — with huge twisted horns and leathery wings — had grappled my bow from me a soon as he'd heard Nathyrra's alarmed cry. At first, I'd thought the hulking demon was attacking me — as he'd hissed something desperately in a demonic tongue. But he only ended up holding my arms at my sides in a powerful grip, ignoring my protests as I'd struggled. I finally shook off the Beholder's confusion when I'd — sheepishly — realised the 'demon' didn't actually mean me any harm and that the 'Red Sister' wasn't attacking me.

Nathyrra had been none the worse for wear.

I mean, I'd  _barely_  grazed her arm before she'd realised what had happened; seeking safely behind an attacking beholder's floating body.

For once, we had plenty of healing potions to spare for the next leg of our trip.

Which was fortunate — I had no doubt that we would need them.

The following day, we found ourselves travelling directly to Drearing's Deep, where Nathyrra had reported the Valsharess' undead were coming from. I'd opted to retrace our steps back to Lith My'athar, to report to the Seer and sell our excess items. But we had ultimately deemed that detour more of a risk, than a benefit. I suspected the Valsharesses troops wouldn't attack until we had completed the majority of our missions, but I wasn't going to risk it and fight Valen and Nathyrra on the matter.

Especially after how irritated the drow had been at skipping the Isle of the Maker the previous week.

The majority of our journey from the beholder's cavern had been — whilst not  _pleasant_  — lacking the usual horribleness which I had come to expect from the Underdark.

We'd spent most of the prior day travelling through a smooth tunnel, wide enough for us to all stand shoulder-to-shoulder comfortably. Though dotted with the occasional stalagmite, column and rocky formation, the middle of the tunnel was bereft of the obstacles I'd become used to navigating. Rock falls, escarpments, piles of granite, limestone slick floors, even cracks in the ground had been absent.

It was only later that day, when we were back in the open, that I commented on the ease of our travel. And only  _then_ did Nathyrra deem to mention that we had spent the day walking one of the Valsharess' maintained roadways.

I counted my blessings that we hadn't been attacked.

Now we stood in the middle of Drearing's Deep; the imposing temple of dark stone and granite at our backs, and the shanty town ahead. An ancient gong stood exactly between the two, a macabre meeting point for all.

All was silent around us, the town's people — a bizarre mix of vitamin D deprived surfacers with haunted eyes — all having made abundantly clear the ancient instrument was not to be rung, lest 'terrible things happen'.

And that's why the three of us found ourselves crowded around it.

Torches, attached to the tips of tall carved stalagmites, were scattered throughout the cavern. They offered me a meagre thirty or so meters of grey and dreary visibility, beyond which was inky blackness. There were small pockets of grey light in the distance, where more torches were set up. Some in the town, most on the temple.

I was bent at the waist, inspecting the runes on the surface of the gong up close with squinted eyes, hands on my hips.

"It says 'ring this gong and creepy guys will come out for a ritualistic sacrifice'," I told Valen and Nathyrra with a single nod, doing my best the keep my voice level.

The tiefling followed my finger as I ran it along with the unintelligible language carved on the surface.

I looked over my shoulder with a grin.

He considered me with a raised eyebrow and bemused smirk on his lips.

Nathyrra rolled her eyes with a smile. "Is that just so?" She crossed her arms.

"Well, can  _you_ read it?" I stepped back, waving her towards the gong with a flourish.

She eyed the inscriptions only momentarily, a stubborn set to her brow, before shaking her head once.

I held up my hands, letting my grin drop away as I considered my next words carefully. "In all seriousness, though," I continued. "I can't read  _all_ of it. But I can make out the general gist." I pointed vaguely at the unintelligible glyphs. "It  _does_ mention a sacrifice. Lots of blood too." I shrugged. "I think we're dealing with a cult. One that worships the undead. And there are definitely vampires involved."

Valen pulled his lips down as he considered my words, nodding and accepting what I'd said at face value. It wasn't such a big stretch, not after what the misshapen rock gnome — who'd enthusiastically greeted us upon entering Drearing's Deep — had said of the town and temple.

Nathyrra, however, considered me with slightly narrowed eyes.

I realised suddenly that I was worrying my bottom lip, and let it go.

"It's in draconic," I lied. "I know a little." I offered a casual shrug. "Travelled with a kobold a while back."

"Draconic?" Valen pressed immediately, head perking up in alarm at what that meant.

"Yep," I popped my 'p', nodding enthusiastically and hoping Nathyrra was sated. "So we're probably also dealing with a dragon of some kind."

I saw Valen take a deep breath, considering my words and their implications.

I held my hands in front of me as if juggling some invisible balls. "Undead cult. Dragon." I paused for emphasis. "My bet is on us having to deal with an undead dragon; a dracolich."

They both turned to the looming temple in silence, letting my words sink in.

_We're going to need to pull all of the stops if we planned on defeating Vix'thra. So, there's no way I'm letting them go in blind._

_Even prepared, this was going to be a hell of a fight._

"And you have fought one of these undead dragon's before?" Nathyrra pressed, her voice sombre, jaw set.

I turned to her with a surprised frown. "Hells no!" I lowered my voice. "But I know a little about them."

Valen considered me, hand on his chin. He motioned for me to continue.

_Good. They were at least considering it was a possibility._

" _If_ I'm right, the Vampires — when killed — will transform into mist and escape back to their sleeping forms where they'll be weakened, but alive. We'll have to stake them with timber before they regenerate. Otherwise, we'll be dealing with them all over again." Their eyes silently followed my hand's movements as I spoke. "The dracolich will be difficult, to say the least. There'll be a phylactery; probably heavily protected." I explained. "We'll need to destroy  _that_ before even bothering with the dragon. Otherwise there's no saying where it's essence will pop up next."

Valen gave a single nod. "Hopefully, it will not come to that." He considered me, before adding; "But thank you, all the same. If we are indeed dealing with a dracolich, you may have just helped turn the fight."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips.

"So," I turned us back towards the gong. "Who's going to offer themselves up as tribute so we can get in?"

And so, sometime later, I found myself ringing the gong with an uncomfortable grimace.

As the sound rang throughout the cavern, the townspeople — who had been watching us from the edge of their shanty's — gaped at me in shocked horror.

Valen and Nathyrra had retreated, and I'd lost sight of them long ago.

_God's, I hope this works._

I dropped the rock I'd used to sound the booming instrument by my feet, spreading my stance and waiting.

I didn't have to wait long.

A vampirically pale man, dressed in wizard's robes, emerged from the temple's tall doors. They immediately slammed closed behind him with a resounding  _boom_.

He was flanked on both sides by two hulking men in half plates and purple robes, deep cowls pulled over their pale heads. One rested his hand atop a longsword, a necklace of small teeth around his throat, and the other bore a curved falchion, its massive bone hilt peeking out from the folds of his cloak.

The wizard was tall, with thin arms and a long pale face. His pitch black hair bore a deep widow's peak and his eyebrows were thin and perfectly plucked above sunken blood red eyes.

_Yep; vampire._

He grasped a long bone staff in his hands — the femur of some unfortunate giant creature — the end of which glowed an ungodly hue of red. He smiled at me, exposing two perfectly pointed teeth. I watched him approach; my stance unwavering despite the fear that shook my core. I crossed my hands crossed atop my chest in an attempt to hide my tremors.

_High Priest Sodalis._

The residents of the town all gathered behind me silently, a few risking whispers of surprise in little bursts.

'Probably tutting about the idiot human who just rung the gong they'd all warned her against touching' This Enserric hummed in my head.

The locals left a clear path for the vampire and his silent guardian's to approach the gong —

And with it, me.

"The gong has sounded," Sodalis called, stretching his hands out wide. His staff's light threw shadows across the sharp panes of his gaunt face. "A ceremony has been called for."

I looked over his shoulder to the temple's sealed doors, narrowing my eyes as I tried to see into the shadows around the entrance.

"Vix'thra turns his mighty gaze upon us," he said, eyes roaming over the gathered people. "Mighty is his will, and great is his hunger."

When my eyes roamed back to him, I realised with a start that he was watching me intently.

He seemed amused — eyes twinkling and lips turned up at the corners.

"Vix'thra, Sage Protector, our Safeguard against all peril," he continued. I tried not to shiver when he licked his bottom lip slowly, inhuman eyes unblinking. "To thee we offer one of our own."

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth and held it there, considering his words.

His gaze bore into me and I found I couldn't look away.

I didn't want to look away.

"Are there any here who wish to serve the will of Vix'thra?"

He was talking directly to me.

I could hear people all around me shuffling back. The bat's wings as they fluttering overhead, flying from pillar to pillar. His staff as it grazed the stone at his feet.

And then only silence.

I noticed that his eyes were the colour of rubies, flecked with a light scattering of gold.

I shivered.

"I offer myself," I said, sagging in relief as the words — my own, but not my own — escaped in a gentle whisper.

He considered me with open appraisal, and a lazy smile curved my lips in reply. After what felt like a lifetime, he nodded; satisfied.

I felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach, and my breath caught.

"Vix'thra approves of his servant," he said.

I tried — and failed — to hide the smile that tugged at my lips.

When he broke his gaze it was to command the two towering men that had — at some point — approached me. I now stood shoulder-to-shoulder between them.

"Bring her," he commanded them.

Sodalis gave a curt nod and then, with one last ruby-red look, turned away. I reached out a hand as he turned.

But then the butterflies fell away into a pit in my stomach.

Suddenly myself again, I tried my best not to resist as the men each grasped my upper arms in their huge hands. Sodalis had begun his steady march back up the slight incline towards the temple's doors.

Silent, we followed close behind, my back ramrod straight as I did my best to keep up.

Their fingers dug into my upper arms, pinching my skin, even with my armour between us.

As we approached the temple, Sodalis looked over his shoulder lazily, fixing his horrible blood red eyes on me in a cold stare. A predatory smile curved his lips and I shivered at the promise in the look.

Slowly, he drew his tongue over his thin upper lip as his eyes roamed over me.

His eyes snapped sharply back to one of the men by my side. "You will strip this one and bring it straight to my chambers," he commanded in a clipped tone, ignoring my defiant stare.

The men nodded silently, pulling me along faster, one step for each of my two.

With even strides, the vampire approached the temple first.

He lifted his staff and waved his arm in a practised gesture, arcane words spitting from his lips. The doors were encompassed by the same ungodly red glow as his staff before they opened before us with a groan.

I searched the shadows desperately, digging my feet into the stone.

At my obvious resistance, Sodalis spoke. "Vix'thra grows inpatient," he warned, passing between two stone pillars. "We must—"

I didn't get a chance to hear whatever it was that they 'must do'.

Nathyrra pounced from the shadows of one of the dragon statues, invisible only moments before —  _a spell?_  — even though I'd known to look for her. Her knives reflected the red glow of the vampire's magic as she landed.

Sodalis raised his staff — to parry her blow or cast a spell, I don't know — but it did him no good. She found her way under his defences, cutting along his robe-clothed stomach with a feral snarl.

When he ducked with a ragged gasp of air, dropping his staff in shock and grasping at his bleeding abdomen, she pushed his head forward with the full force of her landing. She forced him face-first into the floor, before stabbing him artfully through the back of his neck. His blood splashed against the stone.

All of this in the blink of an eye.

One of my guard's grips loosened as he fumbled for his weapon.

Grasping my opportunity, I let my legs relax and dropped — sudden dead weight — straight out of their grip and onto the floor.

I heard one of them gasp in surprise.

I rolled aside just as Valen charged them with a roar.

He hit the one with the falchion in the lower back, carrying the swing through, before flicking the chain around and hitting him again square in his surprised face with a wet  _thud._

The man toppled sideways, immediately dead.

I stepped away from the melee, drawing Enserric.

The other man considered the tiefling and drow before him with trepidation, before — mind made up — charging at Nathyrra.

"Blood is service!" he screamed desperately, weapon raised.

I could hear the fear in his voice.

Nathyrra moved out of range with a careful sidestep just as she finished muttering an arcane phrase — a collection of words I knew almost by heart. A dizzying array of lights danced from her fingertips before each magic missile pelted into her assailant's chest.

His armour bent under the barrage and he staggered back with each hit.

Straight into Enserric.

I pushed my sword through the panels of his half-plate, groaning with the effort of it, as the man gave a surprised gasp. He dropped to his knees — bringing me with him. I let Enserric pull from my grip as the man collapsed slowly onto his face. He didn't move.

My longsword stood proudly upright in the middle of the fresh corpse's back.

We considered each other and the now open door, between gasping breaths. I gave Valen, who was frowning at me with a tilted head, a thankful nod.

Then: "He tastes terrible!" Enserric admonished to u, between one breath and the next.

My breath finally caught, I placed my foot on the body, pulling my sword — with a hard yank — from his back. With a distasteful grimace, I wiped it on the already-stained purple cloak.

"Human?" I asked Enserric, considering the pale body.

A beat, as the sword considered my question. "Human, yes." He paused, humming as if he wasn't sure. "Terrible, all the same."

Nathyrra was appraising the open doorway when Valen kicked Sodalis onto his back. The vampire's eyes were open and unseeing. Blood was smeared across his white skin from the gaping hole in his neck and throat.

Valen considered Sodalis, before looking up at me with a questioning tilt to his head, his boot still holding the body in place for observation.

"So," he hummed down at the body. "A vampire, you think?" He pressed.

Before I could reply, a white mist began to escape from the corpse's gaping mouth. It started forming above us. More was quick to join the steady stream; from his unblinking eyes, his nose, his ears.

Valen stepped back quickly, removing his boot from the body and gripping his flail in a tight two-handed grip. Nathyrra re-drew her blade.

With an air of indifference, I resheathed Enserric.

Soon the form took on the rough shape of a man, bereft any distinguishing features, completely disconnected to the body below.

It hovered over us for a beat, as if considering the scene, before gliding towards the open doors, right past Nathyrra. It disappeared into the temple beyond, without a sound.

"Yep," I eventually said to the silence with a shit-eating smirk. "I think he's a vampire."

Enserric snorted.

At least the sword could appreciate good timing.

I considered the vampire's body, biting my lip in concern.

We had killed him earlier than you could in the game; going for the element of surprise rather than the shit show that was to be the battle in his chambers.

_Hopefully, this doesn't bite us in the arse._

I knelt down, rifling through his belongings in search of the lower crypt's key, that I knew to be on his body.

I felt a sliver of Ensserric's mirth spill through. Then, he said to me matter-of-factly: 'Well, if anyone's going to bite you, it'll be a vampire.'

This time  _I_ snorted.

* * *

**THEN**

Once ready, we spoke to Ayala one final time, before leaving Drogan's school.

Outside, we met some resistance; a scattering of kobolds waiting in ambush right outside the doors. Xanos had dealt with the majority of them, exhausting almost his entire repertoire of spells all too soon.

Then, after clearing the barn of two kobolds who had barricaded themselves within, we made straight for Farghan's single storey treehouse.

I'd approached cocksure and confident, knowing that I'd recently sold him all three of the items that Ayala required to stave off the poison that now ran through Drogan's veins.

We'd heard the commotion from outside, Dorna charging fearlessly in, with her axe raised and ready.

We'd been greeted to the sight of his wolf — the white fur on her scruff now stained red — hunched over a dying kobold. It lay on its back, throat torn open, gurgling as it died.

Without any fanfare, Farghan put an end to the creature's helpless whimpers with a dagger to the forehead.

His wolf had bared her teeth at us in warning, before realising we weren't an enemy.

When Farghan had demanded to know what was going on I'd run him through the events of the day.

At his apologetic reply, we'd discovered that he only had two of the three items.

"Talk about bad timing," I groaned, taking a deep breath.

It had been no accident that I'd sold him a large selection of items specifically for healing all manner of poisons. I'd started stocking his supplies when the kobolds had started getting braver. The item he was now lacking — which I suddenly remembered he hadn't had in the game — I had definitely sold him.

Everything was playing out exactly as the game had.

_Could I change things? Or were they already predetermined?_

_More importantly, did I want to change things?_

He continued with a shrug. "What can I tell you," he huffed. "I don't have any helmthorn berries. I always sell them to the Cauldron. Why do you think their pie is so good?"

I heard Xanos lick his lips in an exaggerated manner, slapping a hand to his stomach.

"But I've been selling them to  _you_!" I hissed to my mentor, putting the arrow I'd drawn before entering his home back in its quiver. "How much of a profit are you making on those damn things?"

Dorna dropped a jar she'd been looking closer at onto the table, scrambling quickly to right it and its spilt contents.

Fardhan flashed Dorna a warning glance, one I knew too well from our months of working together. "Not my fault you didn't know their worth," he shrugged again, wiping his dagger of the kobold's blood on his breeches.

Xanos snorted.

I rolled my eyes, looking around his home for where I knew he kept his less savoury items. "Well give me the charcoal and tressym tongue then," I insisted.

He shook his head at my demanding tone, turning to rifle through some built-in cupboards.

As he searched for the charcoal, I reached for the sealed jars on one of the overhanging timber shelves.

Pushing those I didn't need aside, it didn't take long to spot the tongue.

It was stored in a foggy glass jar, bloated and floating in the grey water.

I grabbed it, stretching to my full height on my toes, before passing it carefully to Xanos. He gave it a tentative tap with a long-nailed finger. Distaste was clear on his harsh features as he watched the tongue bob in the water. With a shrug, he placed it delicately in his satchel.

"Once you find that charcoal, we can clean up the rest of the town and get those damn berries." Shaking my head, I added: "Are you sure? You  _really_ didn't keep any?" I raised my voice an octave in disbelief.

He turned away from the cupboard with a wrapped bundle in his hands, shaking his head.

"I'm not going out there with you," he jerked his chin towards his door, passing me the wrapped charcoal.

I frowned immediately. "What do you mean?"

He motioned all around us to his home. "I've got a house to protect, with things in it — things that  _you_ need," he looked pointedly at the charcoal as I snatched it off of him. "Those kobolds aren't going to find an empty home to loot."

Bethsheva gave another growl.

I pointed at the wolf in disbelief. "She'll be fine on her own!"

He shook his head with a crooked smile. " _You'll_  be fine," he assured me. "They're just kobolds." He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I blinked at the fresh corpse of the kobold, blood leaching into the fur pelt it had died on.

"Just kobolds," I repeated in disbelief.

"What?" Dorna cut in, leaving the jars she'd been so intrigued by only moments before. "We're suddenly not enough for you?"

I forced a smile at the dwarf's raised eyebrow, dismissing her comment with a nervous chuckle.

Looking back at Xanos — with his deep frown and tilted head — I forced myself to take an even breath through my nose, pushing past my irritation.

I weighed the charcoal in my hands, before passing it to Xanos for safe keeping.

Sighing, I looked back at Farghan. "Well," I started. "Thanks for the charcoal," I tried my best to keep the bitterness out of my tone."Try not to die."

' _They're just kobolds' would look really bad on a tombstone…_

And so we made the rest of the dangerous trek through town, my ranged weapons almost completely useless with the sleet and fog all around us.

Twice kobolds charged out of the white nothingness ahead, and twice I almost jumped out of my skin. The first time my arrow went wide, and Dorna charged in front of me as I scrambled for another. She finished the kobold off with a single swing of her axe. The second time I held my throwing knives in hand and — with the assistance of a ray of frost cast from Xanos' hands — killing it messily with a stab to the gut and shoulder.

When we entered the Cauldron we were faced with utter chaos.

 _But this — this I remembered clearly from the game_.

_We can talk our way out of this one._

I'd strutted through the crowd of jeering town's men, all red-faced and tense. Some had raised firsts, others hissed taunts, all directed at the kitchen and the kobolds barricaded within.

Lodar was quick to inform the three of us on the hostage situation, a woman's shaken pleas carrying to us from within.

With a muttered "I hope this works", I'd convinced the kobolds to trade me for the cook, Nora.

I'd climbed over the scattered chairs and table to get into the kitchen at their scared yips of agreement. Nora had scurried out without a word of thanks, leaving me alone with the scared and confused kobolds.

I sized them up; four against just me; Xanos and Dorna waiting just outside the barricade.

I tried my hand at diplomacy, convincing the frightened creatures that they needed to be smart and leave. I carefully sprinkled in the warning that I was a lot stronger than the cook had been.

With frightened yips and the hushed grumbling of the tavern's regulars, the four kobolds had fled without any bloodshed.

I'd taken the berries from the larder as payment, and had left the men to clean up the tavern; none wishing to help protect the town against the attack that continued outside.

After some consideration, we spent another hour going house to house, ensuring that the last of the kobolds had been either killed or run out.

Once satisfied, we hurried back to the school with our ingredients in tow.

Under her tutelage, I helped her poach the tongue and berries in water. We drained the liquid and crushed the charcoal into a dark paste. Once satisfied with the consistency, she smeared it on Drogan's wound, binding it in place with a sharp nod of thanks in my direction.

We spent the remainder of the morning at the school, preparing for our trip outside of Hilltop with varying degrees of trepidation.

Xanos insisted we didn't need camping gear, Bloomberg being an appropriate waypoint in our quest for the four artefacts. I had venomously insisted that it would be stupid not to plan for the worst.

 _Bloomberg is gone,_ I reminded myself cooly.

I tried not to think of the families I'd seen milling about last time I'd been through the smaller town.

_They wouldn't have stood a chance..._

Ignoring the voice in the back of my mind that told me to just go back to bed and let somebody else deal with it, we left Drogan's school — and quickly thereafter Hilltop — in relative silence. Our bags filled to the brim with everything we would need, we wore them high on our backs, ready to face the challenges outside the walls.

I found myself smiling, despite it all, when Emma's hawk called out to me with a shrill screech from the town's walls.

It watched us as we passed unhindered out of the gates.

Upon exiting the town, we were greeted to the sight of three red caravans, slanted timber roofs topped with a light scattering of snow.

Some of the caravan's halfling's paused in their tasks to stare at the massive bird of prey as it flew from the town's walls to the highest point of one caravan. Confident that the large bird meant them no harm, they returned to the task of clearing the immediate area of the kobolds' bodies.

Katriana, the caravan's director, greeted us with a sombre expression on her sun-lined face, telling us of the attack they'd just witnessed.

And just like that, the first leg of our adventure began. I slipped into the script I'd been preparing for, for the last couple of months.

All that time spent going over the events that were to happen. Plotting out how I could twist everything to my advantage. How I could make things better. Make things easier.

But I only made things worse.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following few pages are rushed and short, a journal of Jane's travels through Hilltop's Foothills, The Nether Mountains and The High Forest. A few rough maps break up the text._

_The first map is of the Hilltop Foothills, icons marking people and places of note._

**Wounded Bear**

Managed to remove an arrow from its hide and apply Woundbind Poultice. Doing this in the game was beneficial, but I can't remember why…

**Ferran Valiantheart**

Camped with for the night. He's after the Shadow Hart's horns to cure his 'ailing wife'. Noticed its tracks, didn't have time to follow it. He told me about the kobolds that retreated into the crypts.

**The Hurst Farm**

Residence: Nathan Hurst (farmer, duergar), Becka (daughter, half human/half duergar - kidnapped)

Rumgut the Hill Giant kidnapped Becka to be his wife (!?), offered reward for saving her (decent enough Amulet of Natural Armour)

**Rumgut's Cave**

Saved Becka by challenging Rumgut (appropriate name) to a drinking contest (cheated)

**Elven Crypts**

Mummified hand? (See next page, for details)

**To the Nether Mountains**

Kobold's cave and ice dragon are here. Deekin introduced himself to me (has the tower statue - will give it to me if I free him from servitute).

**To Bumberg**

Destroyed - Deekin's set up shop here

**To the High Forest**

Ferran mentioned heavy gnoll activity

_The second map is of the Elven Crypts, icons marking places of note. There's a lot of scribbled out areas._

**Namaldor's Tomb**

The spirit offered to reward us if we dealt with the level's spider infestation. Not on your (un)life, buddy!

**Spider-Infested Tomb**

Avoided.

**Eastern Passage**

Locked.

**Western Passage**

Elven Warrior's Spirit - after his stolen sword. Can't find it.

**Southern Passage**

Secret door near the entrance.

**Secret Room**

Found a lever, full-face mask, and longbow (better than my current one). Left the lever (can't remember purpose - too risky)

**Kobold Ambush**

Avoided.

**Kobold Hideout**

Talked them into letting me in. Convinced Urko (leader) into giving me the mummified hand (yuck!) Fought faction of kobolds lead by Yazka, with allied faction. Left with the hand.

_The rest of the entry outlining this leg of Jane's journey is even more rushed. Almost entirely unintelligible to probably anyone but her. It's so hard to read that one section looks like she's written that 'a stampede of ox killed The Freezer'._

_The following is all that can be read:_

…the mask!  _Scribbles_  …Tymofarrar promised to free Deekin if I kill J'Nah…  _Scribbles_ …some powder to weaken her…  _Scribbles_ …saved some of Bloomberg's residence from gnolls. Finally found Glendir!  _Scribbles_ …couldn't bring myself to kill the bears.  _Scribbles_ …Gishnak agreed to help in the fight against J'Nah!

_More frustrated scribbling and a messy map with a collection of question marks. For some reason, she's drawn a water droplet, a flame, a lumpy circle, and a swirl of air. Five places on the map are circled aggressively._

_After this drawing, her writing_ —  _whilst never neat — has become legible again._

Fuck me but J'Nah was tough! Xanos, Dorna and I used our focus rings to get out of there and recuperate at the school for a few hours. Boy was she surprised when we zapped back in; stocked up and ready.

_The next section of the journal, outlining freeing Deekin and claiming the statue tower, is a lot neater._


	12. Chapter 12

**NOW**

I felt my skin prickle.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end, goosebumps crawling across my back and arms.

I was being watched.

I ignored it for a moment, willing myself to focus on the words in front of me.

It didn't let up.

I glanced up briefly with a scowl from the tomb, confirming my suspicion — red hair, a flash of blue — and then back down straight away with a frown.

Valen leant a hip and his elbows against the large black altar that had gained my attention, considering me openly from over his left shoulder. His great hulking shadow darkened the book's pages.

Larger shadows danced all around us — created by the towering metal braziers that encircled the altar, and cast by the two giant dragon statues that loomed on both sides of us. Nathyrra sat cross-legged against the far door, sharpening her short sword with a whetstone.

She'd waved the altar off as unimportant, but I'd insisted that it could help us in some way. I just couldn't tell her what I hoped to gain.

She'd been loath to help me with my 'time wasting'.

I did all I could to ignore Valen's intense gaze, continuing my investigation of the heavy book we'd found on the altar's surface.

It was brittle, bound by leather and lightly splattered in places with blood. A stained dagger, more ceremonial than practical, had sat on the altar beside it.

So far it wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know.

 _Thar be dragons_ , and all that.

I knew this altar had something to do with the black pearl I'd found in an adjoining room. I just couldn't remember what.

I heard Valen humm in consideration, and I rolled my eyes back up to take him in.

His eyebrows were drawn down in thought, his expression betraying the uncertainty behind his fierce eyes.

"Something on your mind, Valen?" I pressed cautiously, after a moment of deliberation.

A beat, and then; "The Seer," he said simply.

_Ah._

I took a deep breath, looking back down at the page for any mention of the pearl. I flicked to the next one.

_I was wondering if he would bring this up..._

"You still think I will betray her?" I asked the pages in front of me.

I saw him shift in my peripheral, scratching uncomfortably at his chin as he considered his approach. "I am unsure how much knowledge you have of the planes, Emma." I was pulled momentarily out of my search through the tomb at Emma's name.

I bit down on my lip, hard.

Gulping, I looked back down, flicking to the next page.

Not sure I could form the words, I simply nodded for him to continue.

"I suspect it is little, in which case the Blood Wars mean nothing to you," I jolted when he placed a splayed hand across the page I'd been reading; hiding it from sight. "Is that correct?" I looked up at his raised brow.

I straightened, facing him and pushing all thoughts of the book aside.

"I know what the Blood Wars are," I met his challenge with a set jaw and squared shoulders.

He blinked a few times as he considered this, before continuing. "I was…" he paused, searching for the right word. "I was recruited into those battles." He looked away, his eyes taking on a haunted cast.

Despite myself, my heart immediately went out to him, already knowing where this was going.

I hugged my arms around my torso, putting more space between us.

His eyes suddenly darted to where Nathyrra attended to her weapons. She wasn't paying us any attention, but that didn't mean she wasn't listening.

He lowered his voice. "For years I fought in the Outer Planes as something less than a soldier." He paused. "I was a beast."

I let the words settle between us, worrying my lip. "I'm sorry," was all I could offer him.

It was one thing to know it. But it was another thing entirely to hear it.

It suddenly felt wrong that I already knew all that I did about him.

The questions I knew I should ask died on my lips. It felt like a charade to ask for information I already knew.

_I'm an imposter._

He nodded and attempted a wan smile of appreciation. "Thank you. It is… something I try not to think about. At the time, however, it was all I knew." He nodded to his armour and flail. "The Blood Wars made me into the warrior I am." He shrugged. "Though it meant nothing to me."

He shifted again, observing me closely for a reaction.

"My infernal masters encouraged the demonic blood that was within me. I was beholden to it… I reveled in it, and I was desperate to please my masters with each opponent I slaughtered." His voice picked up in tenor as he continued, his back straightening and his face hardening. "There was nothing in me that was human, and that meant less than nothing to me." He slashed a hand before him. When he spoke next his voice was gentle once more. "Until the Seer found me."

He watched me for questions, his gaze unwavering and firm — where before it had been unsure and full of pain.

He seemed surprised by my silence, but not overly put out. He continued with a curt nod.

"The first time I saw her; I had been summoned, along with my masters, to your world by a spell…" he smiled, but there was no humour in it. "To fight the Seer, no less."

I found myself unable to compare this man I had shared food with, who I had jested with, who I had fought with, to one of the mindless planar beings I'd seen wizard's summon before.

A frown pulled at my brow.

"During the battle, we came face to face. She looked into my soul. I have no other way to describe it." He shook off a sudden memory, continuing: "We were banished back to the planes, but the memory of the Seer stayed with me. It haunted my dreams." Valen closed his eyes, suddenly shuddering. "For the first time in decades, I began to remember the life I once had."

A beat of silence, and then I found myself saying: "That wouldn't have been easy," I offered.

I tried my best to keep the sympathy out of my tone, lest he perceive it as pity.

'Or empathy,' I could practically hear Enserric's non-existent eyes roll.

I ignored the sword's pointed comment, doing my best to not let my mind run away with  _that_  train of thought.

Valen's voice was flat, none the wiser to the sword's observation. "It wasn't." He paused, closing his eyes and gathering his thoughts before opening them again. "My master sensed my…" he waved a hand in front of himself, searching for the word. "He sensed my difficulty."

I bit my lip, eyes uncomfortably roaming around the room; to and from Valen's intense blue stare.

"I was tortured, for months or years… I really could not tell you," his emotion was gone, back to matter-of-fact don't-you-dare-betray-us Valen. "I only remember it was agony beyond measure," he shrugged casually. "Demons know how to torture."

"I bet," Was all the response I could think up.

I bit my lip again in frustration.

 _Come on, Jane! You have a whole wealth of game knowledge to draw from_ —  _You know how this conversation goes. 'I bet'?_ I did my best not to openly scoff.  _That's the best you can say?_

I could hear Enserric's answering chuckle at my frustration.

Valen, seemingly unaware of my frustrated line of thought, continued his tale; "Eventually, I was able to escape Grimash't." Then, despite himself, his eyes took on a haunted look and I felt myself swallow at the memory of what his escape truly cost him. It passed just as quickly as it came. "I made my way to your world, an alien place for a planar. I searched high and low until I found the Seer."

I chuckled, despite myself. "More low, than high, I take it?"

His answering smile was genuine. He nodded, "She healed my wounds and… spoke to me. She offered to help me. If I wanted it," he swallowed down the sudden well of emotion that almost choked his final words. "She saved me. In every way that one can be saved."

I fought the temptation to ask just what kind of relationship he truly had with the Seer. Background knowledge of him be damned, he spoke with the intense awe of a man in love.

I swallowed the question; it wasn't my business.

He watched me with a slight tilt to his head, his eyes narrowed as I considered all he'd said.

Eventually, I offered; "I can see why the Seer is so important to you."

He gave a curt nod, satisfied with my answer. But what he said next held a ring of warning once more; "So you see why I would never betray her… or allow her to be betrayed."

I chewed at the inside of my cheek tensely, in reply to his warning growl. "Noted," I eventually responded, before really thinking.

He regarded me cooly, for just long enough for me to regret my answer, before looking back down at the book. He shifted his stance, putting some space between us now that the conversation was over.

_This is stupid._

I slammed the book shut, taking a step forward.

I suddenly didn't know what to do with my hands. With a huff, I crossed them against my chest.

Valen raised an eyebrow.

"Valen, I'm not going to betray anyone," I insisted, suddenly realising how high and loud my voice sounded.

He grimaced, resting a hand against the altar between us.

I gritted my teeth, feeling all the world like a yo-yo. I knew where this conversation could lead.

_If I was too distant he wouldn't respond to my call when I needed him in Cania._

_If I was too friendly…_  I didn't let myself follow that thought.

I forced myself back into a subdued whisper, each word a sharp hiss. "I couldn't betray the Seer even if I wanted to." He blinked back at me, seemingly unsurprised by my sudden shift in temperament. "Geas remember?" I held my arms wide, willing him to see me, invisible geas and all.

He nodded, his expression understanding. "I do not mean to make accusations." He shrugged. "I simply thought you should know."

Then, he reached towards me, brushing against my arm as he grabbed the tomb in a hand, pulling it back towards him. I rubbed absently at my arm, hoping he didn't see me flinch.

"At any rate," he motioned to the pages of the book. "You say this can help us upgrade our weapons."

Conversation over, but not far from either of our minds, we poured over the contents of the book for the answer for the next ten or so minutes.

Eventually, with Nathyrra's begrudging help, we added a few drops of my blood to the surface of the black pearl with the ceremonial dagger —  _when was my last tetanus shot?_ Then, she offered some half-hearted arcane words over the altar, Enserric glowing a dull red from his spot beside the pearl.

A flash of red and the pearl lost its colour.

Upon Enserric's insistence that he felt like it had worked, we continued in our exploration of the temple; my thoughts never far from the fight that waited in the depths below our feet.

And dogged by the uncomfortable feeling that we weren't ready.

* * *

**THEN**

Drogan observed Deekin and me from over his half-moon spectacles. His earlier ill-health seemingly all but forgotten but for the slight flush to his cheeks.

We sat on the opposite side of the timber bench, Deekin on my left. I crossed my hands on the table-top, feeling all the world like I'd entered into the world's weirdest interview, completely unprepared.

The scaly kobold fidgeted beside me, shifting as he tried to scrunch his spindly legs up underneath himself, to better see over the table-top.

Dorna and Xanos had let me continue on with the little kobold alone, choosing to stop off at the Cauldron on the way through Hilltop earlier in the day. They'd been covered in grime and Dorna had a nasty cut on her arm, which was looking a lot better than it had, after our desperate fight with J'Nah — which was apparently all the more reason for a drink and warm meal.

"You should be in bed, you stubborn dwarf! "Ayala suddenly admonished from the kitchen's doorway, her eyes wide as she took us all in.

She rushed to his side, placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, cautiously looking the kobold beside me over.

Deekin was completely oblivious to her open alarm, offering a contented ' _ahh'_  when he finally found a comfortable position.

"Enough, woman!" Drogan waved the elf off impatiently as she gaped at us. "I will not lay about like an invalid if I have the strength to make myself of use. Especially not while," he paused, adjusting his glasses, "Emma has so much to tell me."

I gulped.

Shaking her head with a sigh, and with a final glance between Deekin and myself, Ayala turned and made back to the kitchen. "Suit yourself, you stubborn dwarf," she threw over her shoulder. "Should you collapse I will not take responsibility for you."

And with that, she was gone, back to care for the wonderful smells that were just now reaching my cold nose.

"I'll take my chances," he called back gruffly to the empty doorway. Drogan looked back, rolling his eyes at me and harrumphing. "Better that than to be prodded by an over-concerned elf all day long." He leaned forward, splaying his arms across the table between us. "So you tell me that you," he observed the kobold cautiously, "and this  _Deekin_ , have found all of the artefacts?"

I placed my satchel carefully onto the table between us, sifting through my meagre belongings and placing them on the table between us, one by one.

"Yes!" The kobold excitedly perked up at his name, pulling his little shoulders back proudly. "Deekin helps. Deekin definitely not make harder." He nodded his long snout profusely, before settling back into the bench, looking immensely pleased with himself.

A smile curved my lips, despite myself as I placed the broken tower statue Deekin has given me, within Drogan's easy reach.

He reached for it with his wide hands — one hand on his spectacles and the other turning the statue this way and that, as he observed the damage with a frown. He glanced at me briefly before picking at the damaged seam in the small stone statue, leafing at the edge something hard that poked out from within.

"You broke it?" Drogan asked without looking up.

I rolled my eyes to the suddenly silent kobold at my side. "He did," I jutted a thumb at Deekin. "But it's fortunate that he did. It's not a statue — It's a container."

He gave a gruff huff of agreement, pulling it closer to his face. "And inside… a crystal," he pulled it away from his face with surprise, glancing up at me to observe my reaction. "A crystal giving off far more power than we detected previously. The statue itself must have been shielding the crystal from detection. How interesting."

"I think J'Nah was seeking the crystal for herself — but for what," I shrugged, "I'm not sure…" I let my sentence drift off, shifting with sudden discomfort.

_Was this bench always so hard?_

"A true mystery then," Drogan's eyes snapped up to meet mine with a sudden intensity. He placed the tower between us carefully, his gaze never leaving my own. "How fortunate we have you to shed some light."

I frowned, blinking at the calm, steady look on Drogan's face.

I swallowed slowly. "Pardon?"  _Surely I misunderstood._

Drogan leaned back, the embodiment of calm. "It's about time you told us who you were, Emma."

Her name had always sounded like an accusation, but this time it wasn't just in my head.

He held his arms wide, willing me to explain.

_I guess I should be thankful Dorna and Xanos aren't here._

I gulped, managing a meek; "Why now?"

He gave a flat, toothless smile from amongst the bush of his beard, his fingers curled around each other in a relaxed fist on the benchtop between us.

"Whoever sent J'Nah to retrieve the crystal will no doubt try again," he jutted his chin towards the broken statue. "I need to know what we're up against."

His voice was calm, friendly even. But his eyes were cold and hard.

There was no pulling the wool over his eyes this time.

I worried at my lip, suddenly realising that I'd probably never truly succeeding in fooling the dwarf.

And so I explained everything to him, with little Deekin by my side nodding along as if this was all part of the job. Drogan, to his credit, gave away no surprise, offering no interjections.

I told him about my word, bereft of magic. And the game I played, long ago, set in the town of Hilltop and the world beyond.

I told him how I had fallen asleep in my world, and woken in his.

I told him about Emma finding me — poor, well-meaning Emma — a retelling of the tale I'd spun him months ago now, of how  _she'd_ tried to save us from the demonic creature, only to die protecting us.

And I told him who J'Nah was working for.

What was to happen out in the Anauroch desert.

The floating Nethesese city.

Everything.

Even his death holding the portal open for mine and Deekin's escape.

To his credit, Drogan didn't even flinch.

The story told, I waited for his response, leg tapping rapidly beneath the table.

He considered me over his lenses, a hand tugging gently at his beard. "The Anauroch desert, you say?" He finally hummed.

My leg froze.

I nodded quickly, breathing deeply through my nose.

"Looks like we're going to see my old friend," his smile was bereft of humour. "Garrick Halassar."

Ayala watched us silently from the kitchen doorway, her face giving nothing away to her inner thoughts as she considered Drogan and I.

Finally, she sighed, a look of pure defeat on her alien features. "I guess I'll be making up more of that poultice for your travels, then?"

And with an exaggerated tutt, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following few pages are in Jane's messy handwriting, outlining her travel with Drogan, Ayala, Deekin, Dorna and Xanos to locate Garrick. She begins by expressing surprise at the company of both of The Harper's, but the rest is bereft of commentary, and simply a quick recounting of her travels._

Day 1 - Packed and prepared

Day 2 - Spoke to Katriana about travelling with her caravan

Day 3 - Training

Day 4 - Training

Day 5 - Travelled through the Nether Mountains

Day 6 - Crossed the River Rauvin. Daschnaya told my fortune with cards - way off!

Day 7 - Stopped at Sundabar for a resupply

Day 8 - Explored the city (high dwarven population), stole holy water for fighting undead from local church, met one of Drogan's associates

Day 9 - Helped load and prepare the caravans

Day 10 - Travel

Day 11 - Caught a deer

Day 12 - Torias and Xanos will make bets about just about anything…

Day 13 - Proof-read Deekin's first draft of his novel.

Day 14 - Torias has a decent collection of wine…

DAy 15 - Bet Torias that we'd be attacked by stingers whilst travelling together.

Day 16 - Weather's (finally) getting warmer!

_It goes along this vein for quite some time._

Day 46 - Holy shit it's fucking hot!

Day 47 - Attacked by stingers. (Won a bottle of red from Torias.) Thanks to the added firepower from Drogan and Ayala, nobody was hurt or taken.

Day 48 - Overheard Katriana discussing our water reserves (have hidden a canister of water for emergencies beneath a loose board)

Day 49 - Travel

Day 50 - Stopped, too low on water to continue. Have offered to trade on behalf of the caravan with the bedine for water, (apparently they had a disagreement in the past).

Day 51 - Travelling with Xanos, Dorna and Deekin

Day 52 - As expected, the Oasis was dry and a large number of them had been turned into Walking Dead. Spoke to local Ali who provided some guidance. Cleared the catacombs and found Desert's Fury, an enchanted scimitar which burns the undead bastards at a touch.

Day 53 - Zombies. Are. Disgusting! Killed undead priest, found the Rod of Blight.

Day 54 - Convinced Ali to help us fight Kel-Garas. Returned the rod to the House of the Morninglord. Oasis restored!

Day 55 - Travel with Xanos, Dorna, Deekin and a whole lot of water.

Day 56 - Travel

Day 57 - Proofread the new chapters in Deekin's book (redacted a section about "Boss-Lady be weird like that, because she be from different world".)

Day 58 - Travel

Day 59 - Ayala has a lovely singing voice (even when accompanied by Deekin on the lute).

Day 60 - Travel

Day 61 - Ao encampment

_A separate map of the camp and the excavated ruins, too good to have been made by Jane, is wedged into the journal's spine._


	13. Chapter 13

**NOW**

 

We'd set ourselves up on the highest level of the temple, in what must have been Soldaris’ chambers.

 

We were pretty much as far from the vampires and undead golems as I could get us, but the fact that the room oozed over-the-top opulence was just a bonus. 

 

My secret hope was that if Soldaris recovered faster than expected, and came after us, he'd be winded from the climb up the stone stairs.

 

Valen, more astutely, commented on the fact our enemies would be forced to funnel into the room if we were attacked. 

 

Nathyrra had lit some of the modest braziers that encircled the grand room, coating everything with a warm orange glow. The elaborate stonework on the embowed ceiling danced in the flickering light, and memorials and statues of naken women with long clawed fingers looked down at us in contempt.

 

Pointed banners with adorned ridges draped from the walls, muffling the sounds we made. I'd forgotten what it was like to not have every breath echoed back at you tenfold. 

 

Between each banner stood several shelves of various sizes, all weighed down by haphazardly stacked books, all well worn with frayed edges. 

 

Heavy drapes, colored the same carmine as the banners, contoured the walls, hiding more stone work behind it — the room bereft of windows. The curtains were adorned with gilded linings and embellished borders.

 

I'd almost considered seeing how much of the material I could stuff into my Bag of Holding, to sell later. 

 

In the middle of it all, a lavish bed sat atop an elevated platform, the centrepiece of the room. 

 

The bed frame was carved from bleached bones, from the head to the stubby legs — which may very well have once been giant leg bones. The modest pillows that scattered the surface were the colour of dark wine, adorned with golden needlework. 

 

Nathryrra plucked at one such pillow, pulling the golden thread lose with each absent-minded tug. She lay on the edge of the hulking bed, propped against a pile of pillows; one foot on the floor, the other kicked up on the surface casually. Her book of spells lay forgotten at her side. 

 

I sat on one of two relatively simple stone benches, both of which were facing the bed in a half circle. 

 

If you looked too hard in any direction, you could eventually make out old blood stains, part of the carmine coloured decor. Almost like a macabre Where’s Wally of stains. 

 

I didn't want to even think about what you'd probably find with an ultraviolet light...

 

Valen roamed about the room, bathed in an orange glow, his armoured feet muffled against the layered carpets. He would occasionally stop to peruse a book’s spine, before his eyes would dart back to the door at a noise, and he would begin his insistent pacing again. 

 

Nathyrra shifted.

 

I glanced up briefly, catching sight of her bemused expression and raised brow.

 

I continued my ministrations with Emma's old mortar and pestle, doing my best to ignore her.  

 

I was biting my cheek lightly to hide my frustration when the drow eventually spoke, her voice a sly purr. 

 

“You know that root plants repelling vampires is a myth,” she said with a chuckle.

 

I paused.

 

I looked up at her, my shoulders deflating at her expression. 

 

She wasn't shitting me. 

 

With a great sigh and a shake of my head, I discarded the mortar with the ground garlic on the bench beside me. 

 

I brandished the pestle at the amused woman with a frown. “Why didn’t you say that when I started peeling them?”  

 

Instead of a reply, she picked herself off the bed in one fluid motion, reaching for her pack. 

 

When she stood up she had a handful of mushrooms grasped loosely in her long fingers. 

 

I shook my head, smiling.

 

Together, we cooked the assorted deep fungi — rubbed with herbs and garlic — in one of the braziers. 

 

Done, with the room smelling fantastic, I groaned as I bit into one of them from my new place on the bed, eyes rolling back in my head. 

 

They were charred, but deliciously flavoursome; coated as heavily as they were in garlic. 

 

Flavour had been severely lacking from our diet — In the Underdark, as I’d discovered, most of the flora tasted like the colour grey. And the meat? Protein wasn't a staple in the drow's diets, and it was easy to understand why, once you bit into a dried lizard or boiled rothe.

 

I was beginning to think there was a reason you didn’t see any overweight drow in the Underdark.

 

Probably why they were all so crabby… 

 

I licked my fingers of the last of the garlic-infused juices. 

 

“Well,” I sighed, patting my stomach with a lazy smile. “As far as final meals go, that wasn’t half bad.”  

 

Nathyrra hummed in agreement. 

 

She lay, once more, on the other side of the bed. Pillows were scattered between us, and — as big as the bed was — even if I were to reach out to my full length, my fingers would only barely graze her shoulder.

 

Valen had polished his mushrooms off, seemingly without even chewing, from his perch on the stone bench. He sat so close to the edge — probably in hopes of avoiding all of the blood stains — that I had to wonder if he was actually squatting. 

 

If ever there was a calm before the storm, this would be it. 

 

It seemed Nathyrra's thoughts ran along the same vein as my own. 

 

“How certain are you that you read the draconic correctly?” Nathyrra said from her side of the bed. 

 

I glanced over at her over the mountain of pillows. 

 

She was on her back, hair loose and splayed about her head like a white halo, dark red eyes on the ceiling. Her skin glowed a beautiful deep purple in the braziers light. She shifted her head to face me. 

 

“Almost definite,” I answered a little too enthusiastically. A beat, and then I added; “An old friend of mine used to write his notes in draconic.” It wasn’t  _ technically  _ a lie. 

 

They didn’t know that I only proofread his manuscripts if they were in the common tongue. 

 

Nathyrra tilted her head to watch me. 

 

“Notes?” Valen pressed, a curious tilt to his head. 

 

I realised with a lazy smile that the tiefling lent his head slightly to the right when he was considering something. 

 

My smile turned wistful. “I travelled with a kobold bard a while back. He used to write about our adventures.” 

 

"Like you?" Valen motioned to my satchel, where my journal lay hidden. 

 

"Like me?" I frowned towards my bag before understanding dawned on me. "No!" I shook my head with a smile. "I write notes, so I don't miss anything. No, no, no. Deekin wrote stories." 

 

I could hear the kobold as if he was right in front of me — a tilt to his head in perfect mirror with the one Valen wore now — as he asked me what I was after with a raspy ‘Deekin?’ 

 

Taking a breath, I focused on the spot just over Valen’s right shoulder. 

 

Enserric glowed a dull red from his spot propped against the bedhead. I could feel his warm glow of encouragement, even with the distance between us. 

 

I sighed, rolling onto my side and away from prying eyes. I took only the barest of moments to collect myself, blinking rapidly to chase away the threat of tears.

 

Annoyed at the sting in my eyes, I pulled myself up and sat on the edge of the bed, unwilling to feel sorry for myself. 

 

"It was his dream to become a published author,” I explained suddenly, surprising myself with the admission.

 

Nathyrra chuckled at the thought, shifting her position to get more comfortable. 

 

“Did he?” Valen pressed carefully. 

 

I could hear his armour as he shifted forward on his seat.

 

The braziers dimmed suddenly, a sure sign that Nathyrra was ready to sleep and make the most of  having her shift on watch be last.

 

I smiled at the drow's lack of subtlety. She could stalk and kill any manner of creature without them even realising they were dead. But her social queues needed work… 

 

I reached for my pack, rifling through it silently for a few minutes as my eyes adjusted to the dimmed surroundings. 

 

With an eventual ‘ahuh!’ I bore my prize. 

 

The book was a mess of sheets that had been pulled out and stuffed back in, over and over. The leather binding, however, was superb and supple; the front cover a blank canvas awaiting a title. 

 

I lifted it above my head triumphantly, bearing it for Valen to see. 

 

He smiled with a slight shake of his head, red hair falling loose around his horns and into his eyes. 

 

I padded around the bed, stepping down off the platform with bare feet, to where Valen sat, presenting my prize to him. 

 

“See for yourself,” I told him.

 

He took it, pressing a hand against the cover with a considering frown up at me. 

 

When I turned away, Nathyrra was watching me silently, a similar frown to her eyebrows. It surprised me to see there was a gentle curve to her lips, lacking its usual sly undertone. She shifted, pushing up to lean against her shoulder as she considered Valen as he opened the cover. 

 

“I think I would like to read of your adventures," she stated firmly with a nod. Then, a little more tentatively; "I would like to know more of your world."

 

I smiled, pleasantly touched at the sentiment. 

 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I held my hands up with a smile, feeling a blush colour my cheeks. “It’s more running and hiding than depictions of the countryside.” I chuckled uncomfortably with a shrug. “Plus, the  _ occasional  _ heroic moment is mainly embellishment.” 

 

Nathyrra took a moment, seeming to turn my words over in her head. "I would like to read it, all the same."

 

I couldn't help the smile that curved my lips. 

 

Nathyrra considered me, before nodding curtly. “Now sleep.” She admonished. “We have a dracolich to kill on the morrow.”

 

Her words were interrupted by a deep chuckle from Valen, who was nose-deep in the book already, a perplexed frown set in place. 

 

I'd read the book through more times than I could count. I knew that frown wasn't going to let up any time soon.

 

Deekin had an interesting way of looking at the world. 

 

With a quiet 'goodnight', I settled back into my side of the bed, melting into the soft mattress with a content sigh. I hugged a pillow to my head, wondering idly as I drifted off how I would ever return to sleeping on the stone floor. 

 

After the day we'd had, I didn’t take long to fall asleep, the warm afterglow of a warm meal and companionable conversation. 

 

I don't know what I dreamt about — if I'd even had time to — before Valen woke me with a gentle hand clasped around my shoulder. To my credit, I barely started at the sudden interruption to my sleep, by the great horned silhouette. 

 

He gave a curt nod and removed his hand when I glanced up at him groggily. I blinked awake, taking him in with a sleepy yawn and barely understandable, “My turn?” 

 

I could just make out Deekins book, closed and tucked under the tiefling's armpit. I stretched, shifting to the side of the bed and doing my best to ignore Valen’s questioning gaze.

 

It felt heavy with understanding. 

 

Once I was ready, I stood with a final stretch — taking the book carefully from his outstretched hands. 

 

“He didn’t finish it,” Valen stated plainly. 

 

I smiled wanly, shaking my head once. “No,” I agreed. “He didn’t.” 

 

I spent the rest of my watch leafing through Deekin’s book absentmindedly, drawing my finger over the scratchy scrawl within. 

 

I'd read it enough times already, so — instead of taking the words in — I let the feeling behind them encompass me. I felt the kobold's innocence and wonder, and remembered the charming little guy with a sad smile. 

 

When I woke her for the final watch hours later, Nathyrra didn’t mention the book that now sat on the other stone bench. 

 

But I heard her pick it up after she was settled, all the same. 

 

I fluffed a pillow with a closed fist, before lying on my side. I held the pillow to my head with a whiteknuckled grip. The blankets we're scrunched up and lumpy beneath me, and I turned onto my other side, straightening them with more force than necessary. 

 

I sighed, watching Valen's broad back as he slept on the other side of the bed. I forced myself not to turn the other way again, lest my insistent tossing disturb him. 

 

I heard the soft scrape of paper as Nathyrra turned the page.

 

I found myself sighing again.  

 

I couldn't help myself, slowly shifting onto my back and staring at the dark ceiling above. 

 

I closed my eyes, willing myself to catch what sleep I could. 

 

But the demons were back with a vengeance, so I watched the dark ceiling overhead, listening to the light shift of paper as Nathyrra leafed through Deekin’s life work. 

 

\---

 

**THEN**

 

“My goodness! My old friend, it is good to see you.”

 

The pleasantries and general reminiscing had gone on for some time between the two men, before I’d interrupted with my best ‘the-world-is-going-to-end’ throat clear. 

 

“Well then, let me see it. Hmm. Fascinating. Yes…yes. I know this crystal you carry. I have read of such things in the ancient texts. It is called a mythallar." Garrick had explained of the crystal from the broken statue with a furrowed brow, his earlier pain forgotten. 

 

At his words, the pieces had clicked in place; the missing bits of my memory weaving together to form an altogether terrifying whole. 

 

"You must not let her enter that portal. Wherever it leads, whatever she intends…for the sake of us all, you must not let her succeed," had been Garrick’s parting warning. 

 

We knew where it led. We knew what Heurodis intended. 

 

We didn’t plan on letting her succeed.

 

So now we descended into the old ruins where she'd last been seen. 

 

We walked in single file, one hand against the sandstone wall to steady myself. Sand covered each step, growing deeper the further we descended into the darkness. 

 

I could already feel the uncomfortable shifting of the sand caught in my boots, the occasional crunch between my teeth. 

 

If I survived this, I was going to be finding sand in my underwear for months. 

 

I followed Drogan’s awkward waddle down the steps. One by — painstakingly slow — one.  

 

Xanos followed, sniffing the air as if it offended him, but offering none of his usual snark. Behind him, Deekin took up the rear, hopping down three or four stairs at a time with great — but ultimately unnecessary — effort. 

 

Ayala had remained behind, against my insistence to the contrary; to heal Garrick’s wounds. 

 

Dorna had remained upstairs…

 

I took a deep breath through my nose, forcing my thoughts away from what Dorna was currently — and quite literally — elbows deep in. 

 

The long trip from Hilltop had found me moving to and from fear and boredom faster than I could say “Is that a stinger?” But those weeks travelling had been like the calm before the storm compared to the absolute cluster-fuck of a shit-show we’d faced upstairs.

 

I hadn’t known people could still breathe with that many limbs missing… 

 

I found myself, once again, wondering just what the determined cleric could do for the few living archeologists Heurodis had left…

 

Distracted from the decline, I felt the sand shift beneath my feet. I paused with a gasp, arms outstretched as I reclaimed my footing and composure. 

 

Once confident I wasn’t about to complete the rest of the trip on my arse, I finished the decline with my eyes resolutely on my feet — no further thought of the jigsaw puzzle of maimed people above our heads. 

 

The wide landing at the bottom of the spiraling flight of stairs gave us only a moment of reprieve, Deekin huddled close to my side, a small scaled hand on the back of my leg. My eyes darted to and from Drogan, what I wanted to say dying on my lips, before we continued down  _ yet another  _ flight of stairs with the words unspoken. They lead us down and into a modest chamber filled with dust, cobwebs and broken pottery. 

 

Deekin held a ball of magelight in his tiny hands, illuminating the room; our four shadows silent giants on the walls around us.

 

I had warned my companions of the resistance we would face with a feinted confident, but I don’t think I was fully-prepared for just how horrifyingly ugly a slaad was. 

 

A clamor in the gloom, the hiss of claws on stone, and suddenly we were greeted by the revolting lovechild of a toad and human.

 

Two cold eyes stared at us with disturbing obsession, before a throaty hiss burst from it’s wide toothy mouth. Confident its friends would heed its warning call, it attacked. 

 

We must have spent the better part of the day — or worst part, if you weren’t a fan of frog guts  — fighting our way through the creatures.

 

Hours later, with hands clammy and trembling on my bow, and teeth gritted in grim determination, we found ourselves in the portal chamber. 

 

I glanced at the old dwarf as he finished off the last of the grey slaad’s summoned brethren with a powerful show of summoned flaming arrows — wondering not for the first time how this would have been possible without him. 

 

As feared, we only barely missed the hooded figure I knew to be Heurodis. The woman —  _ no; medusa,  _ I reminded myself with gritted teeth — who had caused all of this, had already escaped through the portal, sealing it behind her. 

 

We were tired.

 

Unable to sleep, unable to stop. 

 

But Drogan suddenly looked it, most of all. 

 

The slaad all dead, he paused for a brief moment, as if contemplating all we had fought for and all we would lose if we gave up now. He gave a silent resolute nod before approaching the spot the glowing portal had closed, sealing the medusa far from our reach. 

“This is it, girl?” The dwarf pressed me upon our cautious approach. 

 

It was an unnecessary question, my face said it all. But I swallowed my reply and nodded anyway. 

 

We’d taken no breaks. Paused for no injury. But still we’d been too late to stop her transporting to the Netherese city. 

 

I realised, with a pit in my gut, that I’d always suspected we would need Plan B.

 

And that’s where Drogan came in. 

 

“I can attune to the same location she travelled to,” Drogan assured me with a curt nod to his head. Quieter, to Xanos and I: “And I will be wary of her trap.” 

 

“That would be preferable, yes,” Xanos said sarcastically.

 

The half-orc's eyes darting from the pillars surrounding the portal to the approaching dwarf. It was obvious he was nervous, despite — or maybe because of — his snide comment. 

 

Maybe Dorna had the right idea staying up top… 

 

“And you wants Deekin to follow after yous, or befores?” the kobold pressed nervously, face upturned to the dwarf. 

 

The kobold was wringing his hands nervously as he padded along beside me, close enough that he was almost tripping me up.  

 

Drogan stopped, kneeling on the floor and wiping a finger against the ground. He rubbed his index and thumb together, his face determined.  

 

“Before," Drogan said, real warmth in his eyes  "If you are up to it, little one."

 

He adjusted his half-moon spectacles, taking all three of us in. 

“You’re sure you can do this?” I finally pressed. “It’s not too late to turn back. We still have the crystal… the mythallar. We can protect it. She won’t get far without it.” 

 

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed back to his full height with a groan. 

 

Again, he considered us all, one by one, and I got the uncomfortable feeling that he was committing us to memory. Saying goodbye. 

 

“No,” he said sadly, but surely. “We can end this;  _ you  _ can end this. Here and now. Otherwise, who knows what could happen. This is our best opportunity.” 

 

His confidence brought a swell of pride to my chest, but it did nothing to still the summersaults my stomach was currently doing. 

 

“I will find a way to bypass her trap,” Drogan assured me after a moment, before waving his hand dismissively. “Go, find a way to activate the portal. With any luck we’ll be upon her before she has time to prepare.” 

 

Deekin, sensing the tension, watched us with a tilt to his little reptilian head. He said nothing.

 

Sighing, and not able to shift the pit in my gut, I turned to the kobold. 

 

"Deeks," I knelt in front of the little guy, a hand on his cold scaled shoulder. He waited, as silent as he'd ever been, for my instruction. "Keep an eye on the old man. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, yeah?" 

 

I could practically hear Drogan rolling his eyes. 

 

Chest puffed out and shoulders pulled back proudly, Deekin nodded his snout quickly. Determination was clear in his little yellow eyes. 

 

With a flat smile, I found myself trying — and failing — to imagine little wings sticking out of his small boney back.

 

Deekin turned to the dwarf with a spring in his step and an excited. "So, you wants Deekin to reach for things for you?" 

 

With no further words on the matter, we hurried away, Xanos in tow. He has a broad smile on his face as we listened to Deekin help the old dwarf enthusiastically.

 

With an answering smile, I listened to Drogan's irritated insistence that he was ' _ in matter of fact _ ' taller than the ' _ pain of a kobold' _ , as we left the room.

 

About half an hour later, puzzle solved — and with only a limited number of curses from me — we regrouped within the circle of the now faintly glowing pillars. 

 

Deekin was silent, head bowed and staring at his feet as he kicked a heel into the floor over and over, no doubt subdued by something Drogan had said. 

 

I glanced up at the stone ceiling above our heads nervously. 

 

Noticing, Xanos scoffed, waving a hand at me. "It has held for generations. It will hold for more. The trap which that hack of a mage set is no match for us." 

 

Whilst the nicest thing I'd ever heard Xanos utter about someone other than himself, his comment did nothing to ease my nerves.

 

I ignored him and the stone ceiling above resolutely. 

 

Instead; "You ready?" I asked Drogan. 

 

"Aye," Drogan said, brows furrowed. "Let's get this portal open."

 

At those words Deekin perked up, back ramrod straight and eyes squinted in determination as he offered me a single nod. He pulled his lute about and held it in front of him, ready. 

 

I smiled fondly at the little guy. 

 

Without any further preamble, Drogan planted his feet shoulder length apart, pulled his sleeves up and then began chanting.

 

Deekin's gentle strumming accompanied the chant, his little clawed feet tapping slowly as he watched Drogan for direction.  

 

I glanced around us for signs of trouble, shifting on the balls of my feet as I waited. 

 

It didn't take long for their magic to take hold. 

 

I jolted as a humm cut across the chamber, the pillars flaring to life around us. The sound grew in pitch until it was a shrill shriek that left my ears ringing. 

 

Despite the noise, the room around us held strong. 

 

A spark of light lit in the centre of the room, and I stared in wonder. A flash of yellow and then a door opened between us. 

 

It was a flat black disk, rippling in the magically enhanced light. The edges glowed, growing in size as sparks flashed in a dizzying array of lights.

 

I swallowed, suddenly remembering a portal — not too different from this one — and the spiked creature that had come from within. 

 

The portal snapped into place and the shriek suddenly stopped. 

 

But Drogan didn't stop chanting. 

 

Deekin didn't stop strumming. 

 

And then the floor shifted beneath my feet and a deep rumble shook the ruins to their core. 

 

But that isn't what made my breath hitch.

 

That isn't what made Xanos call out in alarm. 

 

As the dust and rocks started to fall, and Deekin's song reached its ultimate crescendo, Drogan collapsed in a heap. 

 

And the roof started crumbling around us. 

 

\---

####  NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

 

_ There's a sheet of loose paper wedged in between two pages. It's folded in four, the page slightly larger and of better quality — but for one torn edge  _ — _ than the notebook it now resides in.  _

 

_ On this page is a different handwriting than usual, neither Emma's script, nor Jane's hasty scrawl. The sharp small words are quickly identifiable as Deekin's.  _

 

_ It looks to be a page from his unfinished novel.  _

 

And so Boss-Lady, Green Walrus-Man, Lady-Dwarf, Old-Man-Dwarf, Elf-Lady, Deekin, and the homeless halflings…

 

_ The above introduction is crossed out, to be replaced below by: _

 

And they comes to new camp, faithful kobold companion at Boss' side, to discover boot had more sand than shoe.  

 

The valiant heroes were closing in on big nasty evil person at last. Their doom was on hand!

 

The man that played with rocks for work is hurt, and gives us an exposition, while pretty elf lady heals him. It's a long story. Deekin already knew all this, and is catching up on writing instead. 

 

Everything Boss said is coming true, and Deekin beginning to think maybe she not be all the way coo coo kachoo crazy, after all. 

 

But then Deekin thinks Ao priests maybe be all the way crazy, when they think Boss is god. 

 

Boss is Boss, Deekin tells them. 

 

And Boss is shortest god Deekin ever heard fart at dinner. 

 

_ This goes on for some time, listing all of the reasons why Jane isn't a god. Right down to her chest being too small and her hair being too frizzy.  _

 

_ It's becoming increasingly clear why this page was ultimately removed. _

 

\---


	14. Chapter 14

**NOW**

I count no longer count the number of close calls we'd experienced in the damned temple on my own hands.

We'd been taken by surprise by a group —  _a gaggle?_ — of vampires.

I'd been propositioned, attacked and forcibly bitten by a disturbingly old-looking undead man, nearly crushed by a bone golem's foot, and had almost fallen down a rope into molten lava.

Valen had been grabbed and nearly crushed by the very same bone golem, stabbed clean through the hand by a cultist, and pin-cushioned by almost a dozen shurikens, a dozen more having bounced off his armour.

And Nathyrra — frustratingly quick Nathyrra — had barely a scrape or scratch on her. But it did please me to no end to see her hair was a rare mess, which she'd been forced to braid away from her face.

It did annoy me to note that it made her look even better.

All in all, we were making our way far too quickly through our supply of healing potions — despite Valen's insistence that his hand did not require quite so much 'fussing'. But, there was only  _so much_ I could do with a bandage and salve before magical intervention was required.

I'd pointedly told him to duck the enemy's throwing knife in the future, instead of attempting to catch it — as I'd passed him the weakest potion I thought we could get away with.

So; exhausted, slightly injured, and very annoyed, we had approached the platform that housed the deva — recognisable from her beauty and wings, even at this distance — a trail of broken bones behind us and feet dragging.

It turned out an astral deva was as far from looking human as a dwarf was from looking elven.

The comparison was about as fair as well, as — despite her countless injuries — she was unbearingly stunning.

Even lying on her side, it was obvious the woman's height could rival Valen's, without even considering the added couple of feet provided by her tattered wings.

As damaged and blackened with grime as her wings were, the once white feathers glowed with an inner power that was so bright it hurt to look at directly.

Her skin — obviously once a warm golden that matched her hair, in colour if not hue — was now a wane yellow, and blue bruised the thin skin below her eyes. Her amber eyes — one solid-liquid colour, like drops of molten gold in her sockets — watched me from between damp lashes.

Valen had kept his distance, watching intently from well behind Nathyrra and me.

His distance was because of the deva's alarmed cry of "demon" at the sight of him, but I suspected it was more than just  _her_ discomfort he was concerned about. He was currently scratching the full length of his arms with an irritated frown.

My skin tingled just from looking at the angelic woman, I could only wonder what it was doing to the tiefling.

Nathyrra knelt before the injured deva — a careful hand on her shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the woman's uncomfortable aura — as she considered the contraption that she was hooked up to.

At the drow's proximity, the deva flinched. "Please," she whimpered. "I have no more blood to give…"

At the fear in the deva's voice, the drow's discomfort was palpable.

Suddenly noticing me, her eyes widened and she straightened, pulling away from Nathyrra's reach pointedly.

She pierced me with her liquid gaze and I stepped forward.

When she spoke, her voice was fiercely strong, despite her obvious pain. "Free me!" She commanded.

I carefully took Nathyrra's place, hairs rising on my arms at the deva's proximity.

Silent, I reached for the black metal bracer locked around her forearm. She lifted it for inspection, and the chains connecting it to the floor rattled. I grimaced at the sight of the needle it held in place — almost as thick as a stiletto blade — which was embedded into her arm.

"You're with these two?" The deva whispered to me as I bent closer to her face.

I tried to ignore the disdain in her voice.

Even now, the tubes coming from the device ran red with her blood, draining into a glass jar, just out of her reach.

Even her blood seemed to glow.

And the jar was almost entirely full…

"What have the elders done to you?" Nathyrra uttered in an awed hush as we took it all in, real sympathy in her voice, despite the deva's open disdain.

"The vampires?" The deva tilted her head.

We all nodded.

"The vampires are creating horrible bone golems. They've found a way to animate them, using my blood," she spat the words, pulling her lips back and baring her teeth in a very un-angel-like manner.

She motioned with her free hand at the tables behind her, each with a perfectly formed golem on display.

Inanimate and waiting…

I considered the broken pile of bones we'd left in our wake, and the injuries we'd all sustained in fighting the huge animated creatures.

I considered the even tougher fight that was yet to come.

We needed the extra manpower.

"We have to free this creature," Nathyrra uttered as Valen uttered a stern; "We have to find a way to stop this."

"You  _must_ free me," The woman agreed. "My superiors sent me on a mission to the Material Plane, but I was captured by these… these Vix'thrites." She shook her head. "Oh, but I've botched everything so horribly."

She considered me, a curious tilt to her head.

"What was your mission?" I asked with a gentle frown as I tried to recall the rest of this conversation.

"They barely told me anything." She shrugged, her annoyance clear. "I was supposed to tell," she paused, shrugging again, " _Someone_ that their hand was being guided by an evil force."

_She's been sent to warn me about Mephistopheles,_ I suddenly remembered with a wane smile, bereft of humour.

_Oh, I knew alright._

Crippling thoughts of my impending meeting with the archdevil were becoming more and more regular the closer we marched to its inevitability.

_You would think planer beings would be aware that I already knew about the devil..._

"No one told me who to tell; only to say it wasn't at all what it seemed," the deva's eyes bored into me.

I found myself unable to hold her liquid stare, eyes roaming to the device on her arm once more.

_Time for a topic change, there was only so long I could stew on my impending death…_

"It looks like we need some kind of key…" I fumbled over my words, almost slipping up and saying 'rod'. I cleared my throat. "Looks like some kind of key unlocks the device. Do you know where we can find it?"

The deva perked up, her earlier pains all but forgotten with the promise of freedom so close.

"The drow have it," her eyes roamed to Nathyrra before quickly snapping back to me, her expression carefully blank. "A party of them; I don't know how many." She jerked her chin at one of the room's offshoots. "They're up the hall."

Turned out the drow most definitely  _did not_  have it. But they did have what could only be the deva's mace — glowing with holy righteousness, so bright it made me squint — as I'd retrieved it from the drow's container of goods.

It was one of the vampires — a man so quick he seemed to almost turn to shadow when he charged at us — who had sole ownership of the rod that would release the deva.

Thankfully, Nathyrra had been quicker.

He was now a pile of ash in a sarcophagus.

And we were the proud owners of a deva-freeing rod.

I glanced again at the now-full vial of blood, as I placed the rod in the awaiting slot. Pushing it in place, I pretended that I didn't see the streaks in her grimy cheeks her tears had left, or the surprised set of her mouth.

Seconds passed in uncomfortable silence, and then finally the contraption sprang open, allowing the deva to finally pull the needle from her arm with a pained, yet triumphant, cry.

Her rigid posture softened almost instantly, and a faint red glow I had attributed to the molten rocks below our platform seemed to drain out of her. A sudden wind stirred her ragged feathers.

"I don't know how I'm going to explain this to my superiors," she uttered to herself. "I've really made a mess of this." Her words broke off at the end and she pointedly looked away.

_You're welcome._

She pushed herself to her full height, dusting her skirt off and spreading her wings experimentally.

I chose my words carefully, stepping away from the deva and the uncomfortable itch she caused on my skin. "It's not so bad," I insisted slowly. "But if you're concerned, perhaps you could make it up to them somehow?"

She nodded resolutely. "Yes," she agreed. "I'll complete my mission." She grimaced at a sudden pain, her wings freezing in place, before folding back onto her back.

I bit my lip, fishing through my satchel for a watered down healing potion.

"Well," I passed her the potion, which she accepted gratefully. Her fingers brushed my own, and I pulled them away as if burnt, at the surprising warmth. "You're not sure who you're supposed to find." I reminded her pointedly, before shrugging. "But things have a way of working out. You know; serendipity and all that." I smiled. "In the meantime, why not do something you superiors would approve of?"

She finished the potion, before passing the empty glass back with a simple 'thanks'. I grabbed the bottle from her, and — for lack of anything else to do with it — tossed it over the edge of the platform. It disappeared, falling to the hot molten rocks below.

She tilted her head at my words, turning them over. 

I was struck suddenly by how young she looked.

Her height and beauty had been deceptive. She looked barely an adult now that I could see past the otherworldliness of her.

"I could use your help," I finished lamely. " _We_  could use your help."

"Really?" The deva considered us all again, brows drawn down in thought. "I… I mean this person could be anywhere right? I have to start somewhere."

I nodded. "Exactly." 

She pulled her shoulders back, eyes set. "What do you need?"

Before I could answer, Nathyrra cut in gently with; "The Seer could use her."

Immediately the deva frowned in disgust. "More drow?" She took a single step back. "The vampires were using my blood to fashion golems for the drow army!" Her wings flapped in distress, as she took another step away.

I held up my hands to soothe her, like I would a frightened animal. "There's a rebellion against the drow; The Seer is a leader of the rebel camp." I held my hands out wide, with a smile. "We're the good guys."

She paused. However, her wings were still stretched wide, ready to take flight.

She didn't look like she believed me, eyeing the drow and tiefling with disbelief.

I tried again. "Instead of that, I was thinking we could use your help defeating Vix'thra." I peered at the drow for her reaction.

"The one the vampire's worship?" The deva hummed. "I guess I have a bone to pick with him." 

Enserric chuckled from his spot on my back at her turn of phrase.

I grimaced, turning slightly so she couldn't easily see the sword. Couldn't have her adding a possessed sword to the list of reasons she shouldn't help us.

Oblivious, the deva continued slowly. "I doubt I would survive the battle, injured as I am." She wrung her hands. "Are you sure?"

Nathyrra raised a curved white brow at me but said nothing. She didn't have to; I could feel the judgement radiating off of her from where I stood.  

I eyed the glass jar of her angelic blood and considering my options once more.

The seconds ticked by as I worried at my bottom lip, eyes darting back to the angelic young woman.

_If we sent her to the camp, we could animate the golems to help fight Vix'thra… She would be none the wiser..._

I shook the thought away.

We needed her divine power to defeat the undead dragon. She would be worth a dozen bone golems in that fight.

Unable to resist the temptation;  _Would she let me use her blood if she remained to fight? We could have our cake and eat it too… Golems_ and  _an angel on our side..._

I didn't latch on to the idea for long, knowing the deva would never allow it _._

_Besides, nothing good comes of trying to cheat fate._

Eventually, I nodded, and she gave a wan smile and replying nod.

"Very well," she said, before adding; "I've never fought a god before. Have you?"

My mind snapped to a time I'd fought someone who claimed to be a god. Frowning, I shut that thought down, before it could take hold.

So we armed her with her mace, before leaving the platform and the wasted jar of blood behind, seeking out a place to prepare for the upcoming fight for our lives.

* * *

**THEN**

I blanched at the sight before me.

_No, no, no, no, no._

Drogan was dead weight on the floor, limbs thrown about as if he hadn't a care in the world. And Deekin, who stood only a scant meter away from the dwarf's still form, a determined expression on his face, as he strummed desperately at his instrument.

Around us, the room was falling.

_I hadn't seen any rocks hit Drogan…_

"It didn't work?" my question was drowned out by the room's thunderous reply.

The chamber gave a sickening lurch, and a resounding crack drowned out Deekin's tune.

Xanos rushed towards the fallen dwarf, terror on his face. Shaking myself out of my surprised stupor, I followed.

He was already bending, pushing a desperate hand to Drogan's neck. "What have you done?" He hissed over his shoulder at the distracted kobold as he searched for a pulse.

Deekin didn't answer, eyes scrunched tight as he swayed with the music.

The stone floor fractured right down the middle and one of the pillars none-too-far from us detached completely from the ceiling with a resounding  _crack_.

Face set, Xanos collected Drogan in his arms.

At my wide-eyed question, he nodded once and said; "Sleeping spell."

Drogan was alive.

The room shuddered.

The half-orc baulked, all colour draining from his slack-jawed face as he considered his bundle and then the collapsing room around us.

_This isn't how it was supposed to happen._

Xanos shook his head sharply, as if in apology, before running to the portal and disappearing in two long strides.

Immediately, I turned to follow, heart hammering as the room gave another thunderous shudder.

A step, and then — over the deafening noise of the ruins falling on our heads — the melody reached me once more.

Deekin.

"You stupid-arsed fucking lizard!" I hissed. But the fight was gone out of me.

I darted to his side, skidding on my knees to stop right in front of him.

His eyes were still scrunched tight, I saw his chin dip as he swallowed nervously and his whole frame shook. My hands encompassed his tiny shoulders, holding him steady.

He started at my touch but didn't stop playing. Not once did he falter.

Rocks continued shuddering to the ground around us and dust caught in my suddenly damp eyes.

I watched in helpless horror as his fingers continued their blurred assault on the instrument's strings.

_Impossible,_ my heart screamed. The knowledge of what was going to happen had been on our side. Failing that, the inevitability that Xanos, Deekin and I would succeed… Where was that assurance now?

The rocks above our heads gave another resounding crack, warning us of their unavoidable fall.

My pained gasp of Deekin's name was a real thing. It clawed out of me, gutting me from the inside. It ripped and tore; there was pain, pain at everything that had happened to me. And everything that had happened to those whose lives I'd touched.

"We need to go!"

Deekin pried his eyes open carefully — one and then the other — small and yellow and shining in the light of that damnable portal.

He didn't stop playing.

"Deekin tired," he said instead of following, and the world narrowed around us. "Head is sore, and back is hurting." He pulled back his shoulders. "Little Deekin feels like bag of clamshells been bashed against ground repeatedly." I gave a sob. "But Deekin stays." His voice was sad but sure.

My grip tightened on his shoulders at the finality of his words.

His body shuddered once more, and his face scrunched up in pain.

I eyed the hunch of his back, holding up an invisible weight that I could only imagine.

"Deekin did good?" He whispered through the pain. My face crumpled as I squeezed his shoulders tighter.

"Oh, Deekin…" The rest of my words escaped me.

He nodded once. "Protected Boss' Boss."

The roof groaned and a pillar crashed behind me, dangerously close. He stumbled over a chord and I felt the room vibrate in reply.

"Deekin afraid," he shuddered again, and I felt my heart clench. "Deekin afraid his book not be finished." His eyes darted desperately to his pack, placed carefully near where Drogan had opened the portal.

I rushed to my feet as a rock crashed only meters from us, and then watched as a seam started tearing its way across the ceiling right above our heads.

"You gots to go!" Deekin begged through a pained grimace.

With a final glance at the kobold, I tore myself away from him — his eyes once more scrunched against the sight of the crumbling room — and I darted towards the portal.

The potion of cat's grace from earlier still coursing through my veins, I dove away from a crash of stone that would have surely killed me. Mid-roll, I grabbed Deekin's pack on the way back up, making a final dive for the fading portal.

A scream of helpless rage was forced from my lungs as I landed on the other side.

I fell forward on my hands, Xanos' huge booted feet not far off.

I was shredded, empty. Hope, peace, wonder; gone.

I wanted to cry, to scream. But the hopeless emptiness just left me gasping in surprise. I heard the portal as it snapped shut and, with it, the sounds of crashing rocks ended as abruptly as they had begun.

Turning, I stared at the place where the portal had been, my heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

Then I felt  _it_ creeping in, replacing the empty nothingness in my soul. It pulled my shoulder back and set my jaw.

It helped me to my feet, and it was what drew my bow from its place on my back.

All that remained was vengeance.

And that snake-haired bitch was going to pay.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

Wedged between an apple pie recipe and salve for ringworm, another sheet of paper is folded and wedged into the spine, torn straight from Deekin's book. At the top is Deekin's small handwriting. It details the setup required for a portal to be cast.

The final line written in his handwriting states simply;  _Deekin hopes this portal works. Boss be so upset if old dwarf get crushed like tomato. Deekin not hear the end of it._

Below this is the start of a new chapter in Jane's messy handwriting. It looks like she's tried her hand at storytelling.

_Scene 3_

_Chapter 1_

The first bit is scribbled out roughly, what is still legible looks to be a retelling of Deekin's sacrifice. She's given up and simply skimmed ahead to the next bit of the story.

_The heroes._ This is crossed out.

_Xanos, Drogan and Em…_ This is also crossed out.

_They_   _found the snake-haired bitch on the other side of the portal. She did what all medusa's are want to do, and turned the trespassers to stone._

_They made for two fine looking statues; one snarling with her bow drawn, the other raising a hand to shield his face, his other arm lifted at an odd angle as if he'd been cradling a baby._

_Said baby_ —  _more commonly referred to as Master Drogan_ —  _had woken with a sluggish yawn in the nook of the half-orc statue's rigid arm. Disoriented and sore, he'd crawled from the statue's tight grasp only moment before the hissing voices reached him._

_He finished casting invisibility on himself just as the monstrous lizard-like asabi entered the room._

_Knowing what would happen next, Drogan followed the traders as they looted everything not bolted down_ —  _including his pupils_ —  _following them, as silent as a… a silent thing._

This is clearly where Jane gave up, ripping the page from Deekin's book and placing it in her journal for safekeeping.


	15. Chapter 15

**NOW**

We sat in a small storeroom, crates propped against the door — and Valen sitting atop them — just in case. He wore a simple cotton tunic, his breastplate resting atop his knees as he tried to remove an especially large dent caused by a Bigby's Crushing Fist.

Soldaris had been prepared for us this time; hitting us with a time-stop, followed by a barrage of spells against first Nathyrra and then Valen.

Realising what had happened, the deva Levoera had answered with a cone of searing light that had sent the vampire hissing for cover. I'd finished him off with an arrow to his stomach and throat in quick succession.

A swift stake to the chest had ensured we wouldn't have to face him a third time.

The looming entrance to the lower chambers had beckoned us, but — against Nathyrra's insistence she was fine — we'd retreated.

"Do I look ready to face a dragon?" I'd pressed her with a hand on my hip. "At the very least, let me change into my brown pants."

It hadn't been me I'd been worried about, anyway.

I glanced again at the tiefling, noting as he grimaced with the movement of pressing another dent out of the armour's panel.

If that's the state of his armour…

I gave sympathetic grimace of my own.

_His poor ribs._

I was currently preparing more bandages for the deva, covering them with the spongy green mass I'd freshly prepared.

After the fight, I'd seen the blood pooling off the end of Levoera's unused mace, grasped tightly in her red-stained fingers.

I was embarrassed to say it had taken me a moment to piece together what I was seeing.

The exertion of the fight had opened up the wounds on her arms, pooling within the confines of her new leather armour, before dripping down her fingers.

Now, she was stripped to the waist — only her cotton binding keeping her modest — as Nathyrra and I did our best with what we had left.

"You remind me of someone I used to know," Nathyrra mused as she wrapped Levoera's arm.

Valen lifted his head at the drow's words, poised to reply.

Nathyrra considered me from the other side of the deva, a small curve to her lips.

Noting the drow's attention on me, Valen closed his mouth. I didn't miss the surprised frown on his brow, before he ducked his head again, returning to the dent on his breastplate.

He wasn't the only one that was surprised.

"Me?" I asked without thinking. "Who?" I corrected myself.

She raised a curved brow, immediately hissing at the pain the movement caused her swollen face. Bigby's Palm had certainly bitch slapped the shit out of her. I tried not to stare directly at her swollen eye and the capillaries that had burst in it.

Regaining her posture, she returning to binding the deva's arm. The young woman looked between us with a curious tilt to her head.

"You remind me of Seelamin," she continued some time later. "A servant I knew before I joined the Red Sisters," Nathyrra paused pointedly, waiting for my reaction.

When I didn't say anything immediately, she raised her brow again — despite the obvious pain it caused her —daring me to comment.

I realised suddenly that she'd never actually spoken openly about her history as a Red Sister.

…And I hadn't even feinted surprise.

Too late for that.

A shrug, and then; "I suspected you were a Red Sister," I simply admitted.

A pregnant pause and then Valen chuckled. I kept my eyes on Nathyrra, but she didn't give anything away.

The moment passed and she simply continued her story, as if we hadn't just acknowledged that she was once the assassin of our enemy.

Determined not to give anything away myself, I reached for a timber canister, pulling away the lid.

"Dare I ask why?" I pressed with a raised brow.

"Seelamin was a surfacer. House Kant'tar — my house — purchased her at a slave auction."

I rubbed a hand across my face to apply some of the ointment, hissing as my cuts stung afresh.

"Not all of us surfacer's are the same, you know," I chuckled once the sting had subsided.

Her lips curved slightly in reply. "Seelamin was unlike any of the other servants. She was facetious, even as a slave."

_Facetious? I was the only one that seemed to be taking things seriously around here._

I gave an irritated huff.

I heard Valen breathe out through nose in an attempt to hide his chuckle.

"Facetious?" I repeated.

"It drew the other slaves to her," Nathyrra explained with a gentle, apologetic smile. "Seelamin would have made a great leader, given the chance. She was wise; considering rather than cunning. It was a rare thing; particularly for one in her position. She hid it all behind a show of flippant remarks … as you do. "

_Was this… was this an apology?_

I smiled back, before asking quietly; "What happened to her?"

"She died," Nathyrra replied without preamble. She returned her attention to the bandages. "A snide comment made to a priestess, when we were attacked. The remark saw her punished and killed." She paused, considering a long unbidden memory with a sigh. "It was not a good death."

The devas wings fluttered indignantly, but she said nothing.

I nodded slowly.

Nathyrra continued, her voice subdued. "I'd written it off as stupidity. A waste of a good slave. All because of a joke." She pulled her teeth back in disgust, wrapping the deva's arm with more force than necessary. "I realised, much later, that she'd been taunting the priestess; giving a handful of others enough time to escape."

I realised we were all still, the drow's story probably news even to the tiefling; who had known her for months before my arrival.

"How did you find out?"

"The slaves Seelamin had saved, had found sanctuary in Lith My'athar," she smiled at the memory

I considered her words carefully, turning them over.

 _Should I thank her? Correct her?_ I definitely didn't deserve the comparison.

I was doing what I had to. To remove the geas. To get home.

But if she saw my actions as something worthy of positive comment, who was I to correct her?

So we finished binding Levoera in comfortable silence, before I admired our work with a wry smile — since she resembled a mummy more than a deva.

Then I helped Valen with his own injuries.

He'd been adamant that the breather had done him good; the armour having taken the brunt of the damage. I wasn't so easily fooled. I saw his pain in the set of his jaw and the red tinge to his usually clear blue eyes.

I'd insisted we needed him at one hundred percent to face a dragon,  _not_  ready to fall on his own sword — or rather, flail — in martyrdom.

What concerned me the most was that he didn't take any more convincing than that, before he begrudgingly drank one of the last potions we owned; the one I had very obviously not offered to the recovering deva.

So, with yet another watered down potion gone — only two strong ones left, which we'd entrusted to Valen and Levoera for the upcoming fight — we packed up our belongings in silence.

As we packed, we went over the plan one final time to ensure the deva was across it.

Valen and Levoera distract the dragolich. Nathyrra and I destroy the phylactery. Kill the dragon. Try not to get killed.

Simple.

We retraced our steps, descending into the bowels of the temple with our weapons drawn, listening intently for anything telling.

We were walking slowly, side-by-side down a flight of stairs, when the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end. My heart skipped a beat, and my weapon felt too heavy in my clammy hands.

The darkness ahead was suddenly too overwhelming, the battle ahead impossible.

The fear froze me to the spot.

Levoera, noting my distress, was quick to cast something with a hushed prayer.

Immediately, I felt the crippling fear subside; enough that I could still breath, still walk.

I'd been so wrapped up in my own paralyzing terror that I hadn't noticed as the other's steps had faltered alongside my own until we were all moving again.

We were getting closer.

When the stairs leveled out, opening into a dark chamber, I halted us for our final preparations. The deva prayed in a revenant whisper, as Nathyrra — with trained silence — cast invisibility upon herself and me.

As the deva prayed, I focused on the area beside me, watching the lines of air that seemed to ripple, before the outline of the drow became more apparent. She was observing me with equal intensity when her face came into focus.

Once I could faintly see Nathyrra, I passed her a potion of speed and drank one myself, washing down the sweet red liquid with an earthy-tasting Cat's Grace.

I placed the bow on my back before stretching my legs, preparing for our dash across the cavern.

As ready as we were ever going to be, Valen and Levoera went first — the tiefling's skin a ripple of magical light that drew attention to the harsh pale planes of his face, and the deva's wings giving off a heavenly gold glow — as different as two people could look.

They lit the cavern around them as they strode in with their weapons drawn, armoured feet crunching on bones.

 _Be safe_ , I willed them silently.

I looked at Nathyrra.

Her eyes were narrowed as she searched the darkness ahead for our destination.

We felt the dragon before we saw it; a deep rumble that shook the cavern and sent rocks falling from the high ceiling above.

Then, there was a piercing scream of absolute rage.

Nathyrra paused, before finally jutting her chin ahead with a resolute nod.

It fell from the ceiling with a crash that sent small bones and dust flying, obscuring Valen and the Levoera's insignificant forms from our view.

They were on their own.

A blast of divine magic broke the darkness of the cavern. It was for a split second, but that was all we needed.

"Into the flames we leap!" There was no hint of fear in Valen's cry.

We ran from our cover without a sound, away from the battle and the horrible shrieking of the dragon.

I could hear my heartbeat, each step on the littered floor, every puff of air.

I followed Nathyrra to a flat expanse of stone wall; pausing here, despite knowing the passage was to our left.

The room shook again, and I grimaced as Vix'thra's foot crashed against the ground, throwing up another storm of powdered bone.

I waited as Nathyrra ran a hand along the seemingly smooth surface, nails catching on a crack in the stone on her second pass.

A gust of air shifted my hair as the dragon swung its monstrous tail.

A nod and we were in; the secret stone door pulling open on invisible hinges and granting us passage into a dark antechamber.

I pulled my cloak away from my chest, allowing the light from my enchanted quiver to fill the room.

The door slammed shut with an unavoidable thud behind us.

I felt — as much as heard — the dragolich's roar of outrage.

I redrew my bow, feeling for the right arrow on my back and notching it in place.

The room was small and dank, but thankfully bereft of bones. A collection of timber lay rotting in the corner.

I didn't have time to consider the purpose of the room further, as Nathyrra was already pushing open another hidden door on the other side of the room.

Then we were out.

The phylactery glowed red, lighting the narrow passage.

Bones and gold coins littered the floor, cracking beneath my feet.

Another angry roar from far off.

There was no time to celebrate as three golems came lurching to their feet, crashing through piles of armour and weapons towards us.

"Shit," I hissed.

"Invisibility is only good as long as you're not opening things and shining light in people's eyes," Enserric offered helpfully from my back.

I stood my ground, planting my feet and taking aim at the closest of the three as Nathyrra rushed out a spell.

My shoulder's burnt from the strain.

I let go.

The arrow lodged between the pelvis and femur, catching in some dried ligament. On impact, fire combusted in a bright red show of lights, engulfing the golem.

It didn't slow.

There were still three golems, but now, one of them was on fire.

I rolled away just as the flaming one's fists slammed into the ground with a resounding crash.

I drew another arrow, taking aim.

Nathyrra released a spell at the flaming bones, and a barrage of missiles — magnificent and blue — lit up the passage, blinding me momentarily.

Eyes closed against the searing light and breathing deeply, I took my best guess and let go.

This arrow flew wide, a red-tipped streak that fizzled out on the cold stone floor.

It didn't matter.

Nathhyrra's spell seemed to have done enough damage to kill the dark magic that was holding the bones together.

It collapsed in a heap, part of the litter.

The remaining two lumbered over their fallen brethren, uncaring of the fire that lapped at their feet. The skin on the leg of one caught, and the smell of burning flesh permeated my nostrils, adding to the already rank smell of decay.

They blocked the passage and waited, guarding their treasure, backlit by the phylactery's red glow.

I backed away — one step, two — drawing another arrow.

I stopped short once I was far enough out of their reach, conscious of potential traps.

They were like the stuff out of nightmares — hollow eyes, massive gaping mouths and a blue glow that came from somewhere within their rib cage.

I notched the arrow and took aim.

They were at least 10 feet tall, with hands that nearly scraped the ground and grey ligaments stretched tight between bones. They were a mismatch collection of different creatures, both great and small, with flat-topped heads that looked more reptilian than human.

A deep rumble carried from the fight with the dragon, and the passage lit up with a blinding white light. The golems paused, shrinking back and raising lumbering arms to shield their hollow eye sockets in an action reminiscent of a past life.

Nathyrra pressed her advantage, throwing a flask at the one closest to her, as I release another arrow.

A shatter of glass and the green liquid was running down its chest, filling the cavity and dripping to the earth below. The bones sizzled on contact with the acid, but all it did was attract it's attention back to us.

A crack of thunder shook the ground. My arrow shot through the air in a blue streak, hitting the other between the ribs and exploding in a flash of sparks.

The golem stood ramrod straight as the electricity coursed through it.

Another flash of light and the lightning jumped from it onto the next.

Nathyrra had cast another invisibility spell, and I was left alone with my bow.

I drew another fire arrow and released it, saving my sparse lightning ones for the inevitable fight with Vix'thra.

I needn't have.

The blue glow from both golems spluttered out and faded before they too crumpled in a heap.

Nathyrra revealed herself at their side, a club in hand and panting.

"Valen really made killing these arseholes look a hell of a lot easier," I gasped out, placing my bow on my back.

Brown fell into my eyes and tickled my nose, and I pushed my sweat-slicked hair back from my face between one pant and the next.

Nathyrra tossed the club to me with an underarm swing and drew her crossbow with steely resolve.

I rushing past their bodies with the club in hand, careful of the dying flames and conscious of how the static electricity in the passage was making my hair stand on end, pulling free of its binding.

Nathyrra left the phylactery to me, disappearing around the corner and into the entrance of the passage we'd chosen to avoid earlier.

Her feet made barely any noise on the thin layer of gold coins beneath her.

I heard the deva cry out and forced myself not to turn at the sound.

The sound of battle drew nearer.

The floor shuddered again as the bone dragon took another massive step. Then another.

It roared and I felt the room's temperature rise with the heat of its breath weapon.

In front of me, the phylactery was a red orb about the size of a melon; the dragolich's confidence clear in the way it stood plain as day on a bone pedestal.

I planted my feet, gripped the club in a two-handed grasp, and swung.

A hollow thud and my arms vibrated from the contact. I didn't let go.

I swung again.

This time a hairline fracture appeared on the surface, a dark line in the red glow.

Hope took hold as I drew my arm back for the final swing, and then —

"Valen!" The deva cried.

I froze.

Spinning, I saw Nathyrra crouching on the ground, with her crossbow aimed at the dragon as she desperately reloaded.

Restless ruby eyes sat high in the creatures narrow skull as it peered down at the ground. Teeth the length of my arms peeked out from it's gaping jaw, giving a preview to the terror within. It's huge neck ran down from its head with the uneven ridging of exposed vertebrae into a narrow body. It stood on all fours, its monstrous wings flapping uselessly — the skin hanging tattered from the frame, glowing with the cinders of a divine spell.

The deva was airborne, her mace in hand and a look of horror on her face.

Nathyrra's bolt fell short, the acid tip fizzling out on the cavern floor.

Valen lay still on the floor, arms outstretched as if he were a doll, battered aside.

Between one breath and the next, the tiefling shifted, pushing up on one arm slowly, disoriented.

The dragon lifted it's great hulking foot, shadowing Valen as it prepared to crush him.

There was no way I could get close enough to resurrect him without facing the same fate.

Apart from losing some of its wings, it didn't look close to destroyed. Only angry.

"Stop!"

I was suddenly holding the glowing red orb in two outstretched hands, my voice carrying through the cavern and surprising even me with it's pitch and desperation.

The club lay at my feet.

The dragon's foot froze, only feet from Valen's body.

The tiefling held a hand above his head in a desperate — but ultimately useless — attempt to soften the blow.

I raised the orb above my head.

"Stop," I repeated.

The whispered command echoed in the unsettling silence.

All eyes turned to me.

* * *

**THEN**

Drogan had killed our asabi captors easily, before returning us to flesh.

I'd been inconsolable. Devastated. Angry.

Mostly angry.

But we still had the immediate issue of the shield guardians.

With multiple missteps — and lots of sneaking that I felt better suited to Dorna than me — we were able to disable the vast majority of the golems without any need to fight.

And on the two occasions that I'd been unable to sneak past and a fight broke out, Drogan and Xanos took up that mantle.

Against golems; my arrows were useless.

Our next task; restoring Undrentide's ark to working order, was harder again.

We were to collect three Winds — yes,  _Winds;_ with a capital 'W' — and restore them to their appropriate locations.

Our first stop was the library.

We read a book titled "The Beggar's Love", and were transported into the woods.

I don't think I realised how much I missed the sight of the sky above my head and green instead of grey before we landed on soft grass with trees all around.

But we had no time to appreciate the new locale.

In the woods, William searched for his lost love.

And propped up against a tree, we found her bones.

A hop and a skip — and a new set of armour for me — and we entered a temple.

All the while I checked that Drogan and Xanos were still with me, and ensuring this wasn't all just one giant trip.

We — or more astutely, Drogan — fought through the temple against a band of one-dimensional monks and priestesses, a simple fight of good versus evil.

Done, we looted the corpses, found the pen we were after, and took a breather.

And it was a good thing we did too.

Because the next location on our Contiki through hell, was — quite literally — hell. Or something that had looked an awful lot like it, anyway.

Fire, brimstone, near naked women and all.

We defended a very unhelpful man with his trousers around his ankles named Karsus from some succubae, and — for our efforts — were rewarded with an inkwell.

Through a glowing blue portal and we were back in the library, pen, and inkwell in hand.

_I guess the pen really is mightier than the sword._

I was entrusted to rewrite the ending of the book.

So I did, crossing bits out and adding things in.

I considered — only briefly — adding an extra line about a horde of gold, before thinking better of it.

Knowing my luck the book would probably magic in a dragon to protect it.

This time, in the woods, William — reunited with his love — agreed to help us find the Wise Wind.

Later, Karsus, suddenly more helpful — and more clothed — than before, agreed to help also.

A simple book appeared where there had been none before and, upon opening 'The Confessions of Karsus', we were teleported back to the library in a disorienting  _whoosh._

Sick of the back and forth and ready to move on, I wrote in the book again; a thrilling tale of how we caught the Wise Wind and how I was rewarded with a beautiful bow; 'more powerful than her current bow, by far.'

The book sucked us in as soon as I added a full stop, and Karsus and William helped the three of us fight the Wind.

And what a fight it was.

Teleportations.

Electricity.

Love — True Love. For William anyways.

There was something for everyone.

Exhausted, we defeated the Wind — battered and bruised, and both Karsus and William dead — rewarded with, lo and behold, a beautiful composite longbow.

With the wind stuffed in one of my pockets in a little bag, we returned to the library.

If the first area had felt like one giant trip, the next bit felt like the horrible come down afterward.

We fought our way through a trapped crypt full of undead men, women, and children.

 _This_ bit I remembered from the game.

We immediately went about destroying the sarcophagi that were summoning the undead.

But not without a couple of slip-ups.

Disarming traps was — most definitely — not my forte.

 _Particularly_ not whilst being lunged at by zombies.

Three out of four I simply disarmed by letting the zombies lumber through the trap after me. The other one? That one I set off myself, completely by accident.

Thankfully there was a fresh —  _fresh-ish_ — set of gloves in one of the sarcophagi, to replace my scorched pair.

And we had enough salve, to fix my scorched pair of hands.

The second floor of the crypt, whilst  _still fucking eerie_ , was much easier.

Climbing the stairs, we heard men mulling about discussing things in a different language.

_Simple?_

Upon our entrance they all turned to face us, completely uniform. And completely on fire.

_Never simple._

Thankfully, all we had to do was dash out of their reach, pull a lever, and escape into the room beyond.

There'd been chests in the room, but no time to check them.

My thought process was that I'd rather be an uncooked human, than a decked out corpse.

The one item I  _did_  have time to grab as I pulled the lever to get us out of there, was a beautiful robe, that seemed to be made of shadows.

Xanos had taken that one.

And he did look very dashing in — what he assured me  _most definitely was not_  — a dress.

Another maze of walls — that shifted if you stopped for two long — and we collected the Dead Wind.

Nowhere near as hard as the first to defeat, but I felt just as frustrated as I had before.

Whilst we were two of the three down, it felt like we were going in circles.

I felt like a puppet in a play I already knew the end of, but could do nothing to stop.

We knew we were doomed.

Gruffly, I'd stuffed the Dead Wind into my pocket alongside the other.

Located in the western fragment of Undrentide was the location of the third and final wind; the Arcanist's Tower.

There we found a rat.

A walking. Talking. Rat.

He was named Dagget; because  _why the hell not, at this point?_

Drogan had identified him as a powerful wizard.

Didn't seem it, to look at the furry little creature.

Dagget warned us that the second floor was in shambles and explained we'd have to teleport in and out of the plane of shadows.

Even just hearing it said out loud set my heart aflutter with fear.

All we needed were shadow gems.

And all we needed to do to get them, was kill shadovar.

And so we hopped — back and forth, back and forth — between the two planes. Drogan took the lead on this one, and we found the stairs to the next level without too much blood actually shed on our behalves.

By the time we made it to the top level, it was — as expected — too late.

A lich had absorbed the power of the Dark Wind and vanished through the portal, sealing it behind him.

How fortunate that the single chest in the room held a portable door.

Using it, we created our very own portal to the plane of shadows.

We thinned out the lich's shadow minions one by one, in a wild game of cat and mouse. Then, Drogan and Xanos had kept him occupied with their own magic — like a game of tennis, but instead of a ball; there were fireballs. This back and forth of offensive and defensive spells went on for long enough for me to simply stab him in the back with my knife.

It wasn't showy.

It wasn't even sneaky.

But it got us one step closer to avenging Deekin's killer and getting the fuck out of there.

Dark Wind in hand, we looted everything not bolted down and teleported back to the Temple of the Winds.

I remember being relieved it was almost over. We were at the homestretch.

Counting our potions, I again found myself wishing that Drogan hadn't crushed the asabi slaver to death with his magic, destroying all of his delicate wares — and valuable potions — with him.

Those we had found in Undrentide had been long past expired.

But we had enough.

We'd placed the Winds in the Ark of the Wind, gaining access to the stairs.

The next bit was slow but — blissfully — straight forward; kill anything you crossed paths with.

Battle Horrors.

Helmed Horrors.

Medusa handmaidens.

All dead by our hand, and the vast majority sizzling by Drogan's.

Packs weighed down so much that we had to invoke a one-in-one-out policy, Drogan distracted a giant tentacle beast with rotting meat as Xanos and I flipped the levers that lead us to The Chamber of Mythallar.

And Heurodis.

And what a bitch of a fight that had been.

Ready as we were, we were never all getting out of there alive.

I think Drogan knew that.

And I think — deep down — I knew it too; rushing through to finally  _finally_ get it over with.

But it had been Drogan who didn't make it.

And Xanos who had needed to pull my surprised arse through the portal as the city fell around our ears.

Lying in my room at the Yawning Portal now — waiting for the assassin I knew was to come — I thought, not for the first time, that it was the universe's way of putting things back in their place.

Drogan always had to die.

Deekin was punishment for thinking I could make a difference.

I had a part to play.

But that didn't mean I was going to let a mother fucking drow steal all of my hard earned stuff.

I tightened my grip on the blade, waiting in the shadows beneath my bed — my aforementioned hard earned  _stuff_ scattered around me.

If it weren't for the telltale flash of the portal — as she teleported away the chest filled with shit from the tavern's stables — I don't think I would have known she was there.

Her steps were silent, the room still, as she approached my bed.

She wasn't so silent when I plunged my dagger through her heel.

It was no surprise when Durnan's daughter came running in to see what the ruckus was. She caught me as I was pulling the leathers from the corpse's legs, looting everything of worth from the drow.

 _She_ was definitely surprised.

To me, it was no surprise when I met with the adventurer's in the common room.

It was no surprise when the inn was attacked.

Nothing really surprised me anymore.

But god's did it hurt not seeing Deekin there in the Well Room, ready for another adventure.

That hurt was quickly forgotten in the face of a greater hurt.

Dying.

And dying hurt like a mother.

But I was getting pretty good at it.

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

 _This next sheet has been deeply crumpled in the past_ —  _scrunched up in a fit of anger, maybe? It looks like Jane has taken time painstakingly smoothing it out, before placing it in her journal._

Dealan,

I hope Tomi remembers to deliver this to you…

I want you to know how sorry I am.

I know it won't make it right. But I needed you to know.

The rakshasa — Dealan, you were there; it was an impossible fight.

When they'd been disguised as men, I thought — I knew — the only way we were all getting out of there alive was bartering with them.

We needed the chain. They needed the stone to teleport to the Yawning Portal. It could have been so simple.

They'd leave and we could have saved you, Linu.

Durnan and White Thesta would have been better equipped to deal with them. I'm sure of it.

I'm sorry the djinni told you of their true nature and put you in that position, Dealan. I didn't want that.

I'm sorry about what I said when you left.

I'm just so sorry.

You were right to take Linu back to the Portal. I see that now.

I…

_Jane's handwriting suddenly takes on a hurried scrawl._

No! I needed you.

I needed you.

Why did you have to do it?

You just had to attack those cat-faced arseholes and be a big damn hero, didn't you?

You just had to take her back yourself!

Do you know how many times Tomi and I died getting to Halaster?

Do you?

Because I do.

Six, Dealan. I died six times!

He died more.

Rogue stones don't grow on trees.

…Neither do Resurrection Rods…

We needed you.

But you always were a 'holier than thou' arsehole, weren't you?

 _It's clear to see why she never gave Tomi her letter to be delivered to Daelan. As to why Jane has kept the letter_ — a _form of punishment? A reminder?_ — t _hat_   _isn't so clear._

* * *

 


	16. Chapter 16

**NOW**

"Stop."

I don't know what surprised me more; that it was my voice that was echoing throughout the cavern, or that anyone —  _everyone_ — was listening.

Including the dracolich, Vix'Thra.

I held the glowing orb — the dracolich's phylactery — above my head, my arms shaking with their burden, sweat making my fingers slick.

"What are you doing?" Nathyrra hissed.

What  _was_ I doing?

"One wrong move, and I smash it!" I warned.

The ruby red eyes of the dragon considered me, a feline tilt to its massive white skull.

I lifted the orb higher, planting my feet.

Valen was trying — and failing — to push himself upright. Shadows fell across him, the creature's foot posed to crush him.

And then…

And then Vix'thra withdrew. Not by much. But enough that I released the breath I'd been holding.

Everyone was silent. Waiting.

"Withdraw your support of the Valsharess," I continued through laboured breaths, arms straining. "And we'll leave."

The dracolich's tail lashed out, smashing against the stone wall as he replied with an angry roar.

Then the roar became words.

"Leave the phylactery." Vix'thra commanded.

His voice was deep, booming; magic flaring from the hallows of his chest cavity with each word.

I bit my lip, before taking a step towards Nathyrra.

Her crossbow was attached to her hip once more, her deft fingers hard at work disarming a trap I couldn't even make out amongst the gold and bones.

"I can't do that!" I shook my head.

Nathyrra's eyes shot in my direction, her expression incredulous.

"We need some guarantee that you won't kill us." My eyes darted to Valen. "That you won't support the Valsharess."

Nathyrra gave a nod, and moved forward in her crouch, starting on another trap.

A deep booming chuckle; so dark and vile that the hairs on my arms rose at the sound.

"You won't get far," Vix'thra vowed. "Your Seer's city will burn for this."

I bit my lip harder at his words and I saw the lines of Nathyrra's body tense up at the threat.

"We  _cannot_ let this creature live," she hissed, moving onto the next trap.

" _We_  need to live," I snapped.

I stepped forward, eyes on the dracolich's foot as it moved it to languishly to rest upon the struggling tiefling.

The dragon considered me over Valen's body.

I lifted the orb higher, holding it in a two-handed grip.

"Kill him, and we kill you," I promised — the unsaid  _permanently_  hanging in the air.

I don't know how long we stood off against each other, but it was long enough for Nathyrra to finish with the traps.

Long enough for her to turn to me with desperation in her eyes.

And long enough for her to make up her mind.

She dove at me, reaching for the orb and snatching it from my weakening grasp.

I don't know what was louder; the dragon's roar of outrage, my scream, or the phylactery as she smashed it on the stone floor.

The next bit I experienced in flashes.

Nathyrra reached for the club at my feet.

Levoera summoned the light of her divine god.

Valen watched me with a weak smile, forgiving me as Vix'thra lifted his foot.

He closed his eyes — swirling red with pain.

And then the dracolich's foot crushed him with a roar of anguish that matched my own.

* * *

**THEN**

The first thing I noticed was how blue his eyes were.

The hair. The horns. The tail.

I'd expected it all.

But his eyes?

They were the most otherworldly thing about him.

* * *

**NOW**

I'd charged alongside Nathyrra.

Her with the club, me with my bow.

I'd never been one for shooting whilst running, and it showed.

A crack of thunder and the shot went wide with a fizzle of wasted potential.

I reloaded.

Another boom tore through the chamber.

This one struck true.

The arc of lightning hit, the dragon's screech drowning out the thunder. Zaps of light travelled over his body for a moment, so bright I had to squint. But it didn't last long, and it only gave him pause, before he shook it off like a dog coming in from the rain.

I threw my bow aside.

I wouldn't need it.

Nathyrra continued in her charge and I didn't have time to check how she fared. We would need Valen for this. The deva.

Nathyrra and I weren't important.

I didn't want to see Valen's body, but I couldn't help it. I saw it all. I couldn't not.

His armour held most of its shape, but his body — and his face;  _oh god's his fac_ e — were broken. A mess of skin and flesh, pain and blood.

I slipped on the slick floor, coming to kneel beside his broken body as I sucked in a breath at the sight of him.

* * *

**THEN**

His face was harsher than I thought it would have been, wisps of red hair only barely softening his lean, grim expression. His blue eyes, set narrowly in their sockets, watched me for any sign of hostility as the Seer resided over us. A frown line creased his forehead, the single crease the only true sign of his age.

His long, regal nose flared through each huffed breath, lips turned down in a scowl that looked like it could never possibly break into a smile.

He shifted to get a better look at me — eyeing the weapons on my hips, the bow on my back — and I realised it was the lighting that didn't do him justice.

I froze, my breath hitching ever so slightly.

The shadows shifted and his strong jaw drew my eye, then the gentle slopes of his pointed ears, the almost quizzical curve of his eyebrow.

His eyes, whilst narrowed in suspicion, sparkled with a deep intelligence belied by his warrior's frame.

The Seer pressed me with a question and I tore my curious eyes from the gentle curving of his horns.

* * *

**NOW**

One of his horns was snapped clean through, his skin — what wasn't stained in red — was as white as shock.

My hands were shaking as I pried the rod from my belt with slick fingers.

I heard the deva cry out, and then it was suddenly cut short. There was a thud, a roar of delight, all followed by the fading of her holy light.

Nathyrra screamed with effort, but what good could one drow with a glorified stick do against a would-be god?

I was pulling the resurrection rod free when I felt the heat of the dragon's attention.

I curled in on myself, reaching a hand out for someone, something.

I felt the cold reassuring metal of Valen's armour under my slick fingers.

And then I felt the pain.

I reached for his hand and held it tight.

* * *

**THEN**

Valen lent again the wall, his forehead slick with sweat from our fight. He assessed the room critically, before his clear blue eyes rested on me.

I held a cloth against the wound on his side.

Valen's much warmer fingers shocked me out of my musing, replacing my hand on the cloth carefully.

We held the gaze for a moment, and I was the first to break it; pulling my hand away from his warmth.

* * *

**NOW**

Hot. Searing. Too much!

I opened my mouth to scream, but I couldn't hear it, I couldn't see. Everything was dark.

But the pain —  _holy shit,_   _the pain!_

And then, it wasn't as sharp, wasn't as harsh. I needed to lay down and rest. Just for a moment.

_When had it gotten so cold?_

I opened my eyes slowly, and realised with a shudder that I was dead.

The Reaper watched me with that cat-like tilt to his hooded head.

My vision cleared in stages as I used the lip of the mist-covered well to help me stand on shaky feet, the memory of the dragon's rage-filled roar still ringing in my ears.

I grasped the rod of resurrection in a white-knuckled grip. My other hand felt cold and empty, ripped as it had been from Valen's slack fingers.

"Hail the dead," the Reaper said by way of usual greeting.

As always, I could detect the barest hint of humour in his dry baritone.

"Reaper," I replied with an exasperated sigh.

I took a deep, centering breath.

"It's been a while," he said wryly.

"Not long enough," I offered him my usual flat reply.

I gave myself only a scant few seconds to catch my breath, blinking as the long dark hall we resided in came into focus.

As always, I tried my best to ignore the glowing door at the end of the hall — the one currently barred from me.

_Cania._

I shivered, clutching my middle and wondering if  _that_ was where the lingering chill was coming from.

I turned, doing my best to ignore my bedraggled reflection in the well's waters —  _shit, I need some sunlight!_  — as I reached within the cool depths and retrieved the last healing potion I'd stashed in this surreal waypoint between life and  _death_ -death.

"One of those days?"

If the Reaper had eyebrows beneath the black depths of his cloak, one was almost definitely raised to match the smirk in his voice.

"One of those days," I repeated, clutching the healing potion in one hand and the rod in the other.

I must have looked a sight; hair wild and free of its usual ponytail, grey eyes bloodshot from screaming, and skin covered in ash and blood.

"Now send me the hells back," I ordered with a grimace, closing my eyes against the disorienting rush I knew was to come.

I gritted my teeth, preparing for the onslaught on pain my body was about to be in.

Afterall, the Reaper was a resurrectionist. Not a healer.

I felt the lurch of teleportation and the rush of air, and suddenly I was curled up on the stone floor.

I opened my eyes, confronted once more with the sight of Valen's body.

A surprised gap was the only outward sign of my passion, as I pushed it aside. I pressed the already outstretched rod to Valen's temple, the tip glowing white, and the hum of powerful magic echoed around us. My burnt skin was raw on the cool metal, but I forced myself to ignore it all as the magic swelled around us.

Nathyrra shouted for the dragon's attention — her voice too far, too weak, for me to clearly make out.

The light encompassed the tiefling's battered body as it healed him back to  _only the_   _brink_ of death.

A gasp, and he was white with shock and blood loss, but he was alive. Blessedly, thankfully alive.

And we didn't have any time.

Valen's eyes searched for me.

They found me, and focused with a snap — a whiptail snap when our eyes met — and my own opened wider, and he was telling me things with his look, but I couldn't understand, the words were missing, there was only the urgency.

Then he reached out with a hand, and I reached out with a hand, and I was cupping his head, and he was drinking the last of the potion.

A potion I'd died to get to him.

As I watched, his sunken cheek — the bone knitting back together — filled in, his horn curled back to its full length, and his arm rearranged itself with a crack of bone and a grunt of effort.

Then he was pushing himself to his feet, reaching for his flail.

Between one step and the next he was completely healed, charging at the dragon with a roar full of promise, anger, purpose.

I fell onto my hands — the pain from my recent death staved off only by adrenaline, by purpose— and that purpose had been fulfilled.

Too weak to do anything more, I watched.

I watched as Valen, face alight with vigor, forced the dragon's attention away from Nathyrra. I watched as he struck time and time again, against the hulking monster. And I watched as — impossibly — he brought Vix'thra to his knees, crushing his skull with one, two, three, swings of his great flail.

I had the clarity to realise laughter wasn't the appropriate response, but lacked the capacity to stop myself.

There, in the cavern of a now  _dead_ undead dragon, the laughter poured out of me like a language.

And in the fading light of the dragon's dying magic, my laughter faded into a desperate, airy chuckle — too tired to do anything more — as Valen rushed to the felled deva's side, his expression pinched with determination and concern.

My vision was blurring at the edges and I had to look away as he knelt down, reaching for her and searching for the healing potion — our last of the potions.

Another bust of laughter, but this one held none of the surprised joy of the last, as I felt my vision starting to narrow.

_If only I'd stashed more potions in the Realm of the Reaper…_

My arms gave out and I fell to the floor, my laughter turning to gasps of pain, as I rolled onto my back. I watched the dark ceiling above as it spun in and out, and in and out of focus.

Breathing as deeply as I dared, I closed my eyes against the moving ceiling, swallowing down my nausea.

I waited for the chill of the Reaper's hall.

He was going to get a kick out of this…

All the rogue stones in the world, but nothing left to heal me.

Would I be trapped in the Reaper's halls forever; a horrible limbo interrupted by the occasional trip into a broken body minutes from death?

Or would I evanescence away day by day, with a sentient sword and Reaper my only company?

But then there were footsteps, and I cried against a fresh burst of pain.

And then my eyes snapped open with a surprised gasp.

The spinning ceiling had been replaced by Valen's concerned frown, the floor by his lap.

And this time it was his hands on the back of  _my_ neck as he coaxed the last of our healing potion between my parched lips. I didn't have the discipline — or energy — to do anything but drink.

And as I laid there — my burnt flesh knitting back together, wishing that I'd been a little less distant, a little more open with him — I looked up at his wide blue eyes and thought that, as far as deaths went; this was my favourite.

* * *

**THEN**

I glanced up across the public house's table, spoon poised at my lips in surprise, as Valen chuckled at his own joke, the corners of his eyes crinkling with laughter.

That's when I knew; frozen in panic, mouth agape.

I realised with a sudden clarity how easy it would be to care for this man.

So — excusing myself, I left him and Nathyrra to their meal, waiting out the night in my little empty room with only a sword and a notebook for company.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_This page is a list of flora found in the underdark, placed illogically between a list of song titles, listed alphabetically with the title 'Remember:', and a hastily drawn map of the maze of tunnels leading into Lith My'athar._

_Both the handwriting and the chaotic scattering of thoughts are irrefutably Jane's._

**Blackroot**

_A sketch of a thin vine with small dark leaves._

Location: found near water, growing in sunlight or near phosphorescent moss.

Use: the root can be ground into powder to create blackroot poison.

**Darkthorn**

_This sketch is of a mushroom, with long and rigid tapered tendrils standing upright._

Location: dark caverns and caves.

Use: can be replanted at the bottom of pits as a spike trap.

**Dragontongue Mushroom**

_The stout stalk of the mushroom is a pale yellow, transitioning to a darker colour at the top, before splitting into six black protrusions._

Location: Anywhere muddy and dark.

Use: hallucinogenic.

**Light of Mystra**

_This illustration Jane has spent some time colouring. It's a collection of small mushrooms with thick heads, coloured a pale emerald. The head is littered with small red bumps and within the bumps of the cap is a scattering of cerulean blue spores._

Location: the darkest tunnels in the lower depths of the Underdark.

Use: glows, to mark the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The THENs have caught up, and all future chapters will only be set in one timeline.


	17. Chapter 17

_As far as death's went; this was my favourite._

That had been my very last thought before I had lost consciousness.

It was most definitely not my first thought when consciousness returned. It was nothing quite so poetic, and nowhere near as gentle a thought. Where my last thought had been full of bittersweet longing — like a gentle sigh — this new thought was sharp and unexpected — like a sharp intake after submerging in cold water.

_Holy fucking shitballs; everything hurts_ , was the vein of my first thought.

And then it was my second and my third.

But I couldn't put that thought to words — for the same reason I  _thankfully_ hadn't voiced my last thought. Instead, I silently swallowed the last of the healing potion that had saved my life; the cool liquid a chalky balm for my scorched throat.

Instead of voicing any of these thoughts, I spluttered indignantly. Coughing and gasping through the slowly —  _far too slowly_ — fading pain, as the potion's magic took affect.

I was indignantly thankful for the comforting hand on my back as Valen hovered over me, watching me with such intensity that it looked like he may very well have willed me back to health — potion be damned.

Breathing under control, and the pain reduced down a level to  _holy fucking shitballs; only_ _some_   _stuff hurts,_ I glanced away from his spectacular blue gaze, blinking slowly as I took stock of our dark surroundings.

I bit my tongue in surprise at the sight of Vix'thra's imposing body and then bit it harder again, at the mixed bag of emotions — relief, anger, thankfulness, betrayal — the sight of Nathyrra, healthy and whole, caused. She made no move to approach us.

"It is good to see you awake," Valen's voice drew my attention back, forcing me to ignore the clenching in my chest. He offered me a gentle smile, the soft curve of his lips contradictory to the concerned pinching of his eyes.

"Better to be it," I replied with a rasp — the comment coming off more glim than I intended.

The hand on the small of my back helped me forward but did not retreat, causing me to take stock of our intertwined position. My eyes snapped back to his own, and — realising just how close he sat, the blush creeping in — I dropped my gaze.

Without a word of warning, I pulled away, attempting to stand on my shaky legs.

Valen rose with me, hand hovering by my back until I was standing on my own. As soon as it looked like I wasn't about to keel over, he stepped away. His arms fluttered by his sides, ready to help should I need him.

I opened my mouth to talk — and I will forever be unsure what I was about to say next — because the troubled look on his face silenced the impulse.

His head darted back to peer at the body of Vix'thra, and — eyes wide — he pulled away, jogging past me.

My heart stuttered and I had a terrifying thought that the dragon wasn't truly dead.

It was only when I quickly glanced back over my shoulder that I could see that it was not the corpse of our recent enemy that had Valen so concerned, but the fallen form of our ally.

Nathyrra stood by the deva, watching Valen's hasty approach, her expression unreadable. She gave him a single, silent shake of her head.

I was too far to hear the words the two exchanged as Valen turned his potion's pouch inside out in explanation — broken glass falling to his feet.

I collected the resurrection rod with shaking hands, considering the cool metal and then the deva's still form once more.

'You could bring her back.' Enserric hummed carefully to me. I flinched at his words, bereft of their usual sly humour. 'You could bring her back and heal her the old fashioned way.'

I shook my head roughly as if I could shake the sword's very thoughts from my mind.

"We couldn't  _confidently_  heal her with anything but a potion." I voiced my fears with a whispered hiss. But that answer felt hollow.

It was far more likely than not that she'd used the last of her healing spells; her death was evidence of that.

But the most poignant fact of all, I left unsaid.

If I failed in healing her we'd have wasted both time and another precious charge on the resurrection rod.

We  _might_  be able to save her. But I wasn't risking what was left of the magical charges on maybes.

I felt a swell of shame knowing that my fears were laid bare to Enserric. Lifting my lip in disgust, I pushed the shame immediately aside with another sharp shake of my head, slotting the rod roughly back into my belt.

_If only we had left with the phylactery!_  With the thought, my eyes found Nathyrra once more.

But then I caught the still shape of that poor young deva by her feet and I couldn't bear the sight a moment longer.

Confident my legs cold hold my own weight, I started back towards the dragon's horde.

I ignored the questioning glance Valen sent my way, disappearing down the hall and busying myself by stuffing my pockets, my satchel, my pack and my bag of holding with everything that wasn't bolted down.

It didn't take long for them to join me in my rampant looting, Nathyrra always just on the edge of my vision; silent and eyes on her work. Valen, unsure what to say, perpetuated the silence, his eyes darting between us.

And then the silence stretched into our trip from the crypt, it stretched through the temple and well out of Drearing's Deep. Yes, we alerted the villages that they were finally,  _finally_  free. But not even the gnome's good spirits could lift our own.

We spoke only when needed — in as few words as we could, to get our point across — and even then my eyes never quite found Nathyrra's own. Gone was the banter and camaraderie, as quickly as we had earned it. Gone was the understanding that I felt I'd finally struck with the drow. And gone was my trust in her.

The silence — filled with words unsaid — hung over us like a cloud that at any moment could choke the life from us. It seeped into our every pore, like a poison slowly paralysing us from both speech and sudden action.

And as this silence stretched to a point that nobody could possibly ever break it, I retreated further into myself.

The march back to Lith My'athar passed like thousands of camera frames with no context tying them together. In this time bubble, the sounds were distant, the coldness was inconsequential, and colours were duller. My insides felt as if there was nothing there, nothing to need feeding, nothing to have need of at all. I pushed my food around until it cooled, and I slept until I was woken, but I never broke that silence, and as time passed the tension grew thicker.

I marched towards my inevitable death, bearing the burden alone. The knowledge of our nearing defeat felt like an invisible force crushing me from every possible direction, forcing me further and further into myself.

And, much later, as my eyes skimmed the increasingly common purple glowing stones that marked our approach of the drow city — despair already turning to concrete in my veins — I didn't even blink twice when a drow darted from the wall's shadows ahead.

It was only when he spoke that — for a split second — my desolation was interrupted, the surprise of thoughts put to voice shocking me from my self-pity.

But as he told us that the Valsharesses troops were no more than a day's march from our walls, no thought came to me except that my fate was sealed.

We followed him into Lith My'athar, the gates clanging shut behind us and locking into place.

I let Valen update the Seer on our latest win — the word  _win_  a bitter mockery that immediately brought to mind the deva's still body.

And then, her voice urgent but ever gentle, the Seer updated us on the city's progress and their plans for the impending war. As she spoke, I pulled my shoulders back and felt the hollowness inside me filling with something more fitting for action.

Like I had when Deekin died, I let the anger take hold.

My chest tightened into a knot like a cramp, and a quiet rage began to burn inside. My fists were clenched and my jaw rooted.

And then finally the bubble popped and colour gained clarity, and the chill of the air set the hairs on the back of my neck on edge, and everything was suddenly just so very loud.

As the Seer finished outlying her plan with Valen and Imloth's regular input, I couldn't help but clench my jaw at gaps in our defences that could have been filled by — oh, I don't know — maybe a  _flying deva_. I found myself wishing, not for the first time, that we'd simply left the dracolich with his phylactery and deva in tow. With the thought came another white-hot lance of anger.

My eyes found Nathyrra's, and stuck. She'd been watching me, her eyes hard, her stance still.

It hadn't looked at her — really  _looked_  at her — in days. Now that I was — my fists clenched by my sides — I felt like a stranger's face stared back at me. It very well might have.

I could read everything that Nathyrra thought of me and I of her in that one extended glare, and — with the Valsharess' army only a day away — forgiveness wasn't an option.

But neither was pettiness.

I forced myself to unclench my fists.

I involved myself only in what I needed for the battle plans, being a general only in name.

The only thing I changed was a contingency defence at our rear, lest the Valsharess' troops attack by way of boat. I felt Valen's immediate resistance to the plan, I saw the words forming on his lips — the Boatman was the only way in or out, and he was on our side — but then he seemed to think better off himself and conceded to splitting our already thin forces ever further. A nod and it was done.

Plans made, we departed with a blessing from the Seer, and promise that we would find what sleep we could once we were prepared. Nathyrra hung back with her chin raised to talk to the older woman privately, a silent challenge in her eyes.

I forced myself to nod to them both in turn, before retreating. I felt their eyes on me as Valen tilted his head towards the door and I followed him wordlessly outside.

Once outside, I realised that the city felt different from usual. And nothing like I thought a city preparing on the eve of battle would feel like. Had it been this way when we'd entered? Or had I really been so distracted?

The chatter had increased, and I could hear none of the telltale sounds of the training grounds. People were not mulling about, but nor were they hurrying in preparation. Everyone that I could see walked calmly and with purpose, in one direction or another. Most were bereft of the leathers Imloth had been wearing, and instead wore fine silks and extravagant jewellery. Each drow was a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns, interrupted only by large expanses of ebony skin.

The guards at the doors of the temple were a new addition, and they wore no such finery. They greeted both Valen and I with a low nod at our passing. They looked beyond bored, watching the citizens with expressions of clear longing.

"It looks like the festivities have begun," Valen hummed.

I forced my eyes away from another drow — a woman who wore more jewellery than clothes — and met Valen's twinkling eyes. He was obviously enjoying the sight of the growing blush on my cheeks.

"Festivities?" I dared to ask him, pausing between one step and the next

And then, with a surprised frown, I realised that I'd forgotten to be angry.

"Come," Valen interrupted my line of thought as he continued down into the city. "Let us restock, and then we can grab a bite."

My stomach clenched in reply, and I was surprised to find it grumbling in agreement.

When we got to the market, Gulhrys wasn't at his usual stall. In his place stood a young drow in wizards robes, robes that were nowhere near as embellished as the older wizards had been. He recognised us immediately and without preamble, and I was again reminded how much a tiefling and human stood out in an Underdark city.

We said nothing as he sold us the last of his healing potions at a fraction of the usual price, but I dreaded to think what the poor apprentice's punishment would be for his mistake. That didn't stop me from buying him out.

'The old cad's been ripping you off since you got here,' Enserric assured me, assuaging stone of my guilt.

As we finished lightening our packs of the dragon's horde, I smiled at the pouches of gold we now owned — more than I'd ever had at any one time, maybe ever.

I was tossing one such pouch in my hand thoughtfully as Valen reshuffled his pack, considering the young apprentice's nervous half-smile.

With a sigh and a quick glance at the top of Valen's head, I took the apprentice's obvious lowball offer for our final suit of armour, without any of the usual haggling. The young drow's eyes widened into surprised saucers as he hastily dropped the gold into my waiting palm with shaking hands. He greedily reached for the armour before quickly placing it behind his bench with a smile.

The guilt immediately disappeared, like the unclenching of a fist.

'Soft.' My sword huffed in accusation. If Enserric had eyes I had no doubt he'd be rolling them. "That could have gone towards an upgrade on — oh, I don't know — maybe your magical sword?" This he said out loud, causing the apprentice to jolt with surprise.

I could hear Valen's quiet chuckle as he strapped his pack in place, but he said nothing.

Next was Rizolvir's forge, but the usually jovial blacksmith was nowhere to be seen. He too had been replaced by his usual apprentice, more soot-stained than the last time I'd seen the young wiry man.

"Rizolvir too?" I expressed my surprise at our approach.

Valen offered me a small smile, hands already unbuckling some of the straps on his damaged emerald armour, as we approached the warmth of the forge.

"Like I said," he gave another shrug. "The festivities have begun."

I shook my head at the absurdity of his statement.

"The city has had time to prepare," he explained at my incredulous look. "One more night isn't going to make a difference."

"No, but a city full of hungover drow might potentially tip the scales, yes?" This from Enserric, who had — quite literally — lit up at our approach of the forge.

"Who said anything about hangovers?" Valen chuckled.

The tiefling removed the rest of his battered armour, passing it to the apprentice. No explanation was required at the sight of the warped metal.

I relinquished both Enserric and my bow, along with the majority of our gold. I opted for fire-based enchantments where possible, thoughts drifting ever back to Cania and what we would inevitably face there.

Next was a set of leathers in my size, new from the dragon's horde. I passed them over with the request of enchantments that would give resistance to frost.  _This_ Valen raised a brow at, taking in the scorched leathers I currently wore.

"I would have thought fire," he mused wryly.

"Obviously I can deal with the heat," I replied with a hand on my cocked hip, motioning down at the burnt leather with the other.

The apprentice took down our requests on a small sheet of parchment, thoughts already on the work ahead.

With the help of someone whose name didn't ring a bell — probably the wizard's apprentice we'd traded with earlier — he assured us that our items would be repaired and upgraded within a matter of hours.

So, hungry — and somewhat aimlessly — we wandered in companionable silence to the beer garden.

On the way, I couldn't help but gawk at two young drow women. They held each other's arms as they laughed, their eyes crinkled in glee and they were — quite literally —  _glowing._  A white glow silhouetted the two of them, throwing drastic shadows across the streets.

A magical enhancement of some kind?

'Faerie fire,' Enserric helpfully provided.

As we passed them they fell silent, watching us — no,  _watching Valen_  — with hooded eyes shadowed heavily with kohl.

He did his best to ignore their open interest, but I could clearly see a blush rising on his cheeks, despite the low purple light.

Upon passing them a snort escaped from one of them before they dissolved into another fit of what could only be described as  _giggling_.

Even Valen looked surprised at the very un-drowlike sound.

As we approached the beer garden it became increasingly apparent that it was not open — something that had never happened in all of my time in the city.

I mean, it was practically the kebab shop of the Underdark, minus the HSPs.

My stomach rumbled in complaint, and I gave it a soothing pat.

Looking around in surprise, it was then that I realised the two young women from earlier weren't the only people that had been glowing. Beacons of light poked the darkness all around us, lighting up drow — both men and women — as they travelled from one place to the next.

Two young boys, white light accentuating the glee on their faces, ducked down a street, chasing something that skittered down an alley with shrill laughter.

Further away a woman that wore only a skirt and a necklace walked alone. Her face was expressionless but her skin was flushed from alcohol and activity, obvious due to the glow of the spell.

And, not too far from us, in the alcove of a building, the magical glow afforded us a very clear view of the back of a man and woman, the latter of which had her skirts bunched up around her waist. The blush was back on Valen's cheeks, but I could feel the warmth on my own and knew I must look the same.

Looking anywhere but at that alcove, I realised that not everyone had been touched by the magic.

A man bereft of the so-called faerie fire ducked past a small group of soldiers — who were glowing, themselves — before disappearing into the public house. The door opened, pale purple light spilling out onto the streets along with the distant sound of music. And then, just as suddenly, it slammed shut and the music was gone.

"I think that's where we'll find food," I slowly said, still a little in awe.

I nudged the tiefling from his stunned thoughts with a gentle elbow. He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably, his cotton tunic pulling taught with the movement.

Valen then motioning to the public house. "After you then, my lady," he insisted, all mock formality.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smile, my curiosity well and truly peaked.

Besides, we had a few hours to kill before our armour and weapons would be ready…

What was the harm in checking it out?

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following page is in Jane's usual writing style._

**Nedeirra**

A dancing competition where drow who make the wrong steps are marked with harmless faerie fire.

**Illiyitrii**

A formal dance involving costumes. And when none are present, exchanging clothes, with the intent of acquiring items above your status.

**Spider Hunting**

A game of hide-and-seek played by young drow as a kind of courting ritual during festivals.

_Below all of this jovial lore is a seemingly unrelated illustration of a large man, coloured all in red with long black horns protruding from his head. His human legs bend backwards at the knee, becoming immediately hairier, before ending in black hooves. He bears a trident and a sinister smile._

_Mephistopheles._


	18. Chapter 18

It was like the drow in the room had forgotten how to stand still.

The writhing masses in front of me were a riot of colour and movement and life, everyone more hyped up than they should have been on the eve of a battle.

'Or maybe that's exactly the point,' this from Enserric; audible only because he was in my mind.

Inside the public house, it was like the drow were dancing below the Northern Lights. Beneath a magical fog-swirled an array of blues, acid greens, purples and gold. Some of the drow glowed the brilliant white we'd seen outside, but most did not — the seemingly random pattern of the faerie fire still unclear.

I looked down at my hand momentarily, just to make sure I too didn't glow.

Music played over the dance floor as if it had fused with the moving bodies, the string instruments impossibly loud.

We had paused in the doorway, and the gentle shove of a new patron come to join in the festivities shocked us suddenly from our stupor.

Valen looked down at me with a raised eyebrow. My 'why not?' shrug was all he needed.

We slipped in among the crowd, making a beeline for the bar through the throng of moving bodies. A path opened up for Valen's hulking form, and I shoved through the wave as it almost immediately closed up behind him.

The crowd moving to and from the bar was too much for us both to easily navigate, and so I hung back, watching the top of Valen's as he navigated through the much shorter drow.

Arms crossed and back rigid, I noticed almost immediately that the drow — men especially — all did their best to keep their distance, despite the cramped quarters, moving gracefully around me. Curious eyes would widen and dart to me in surprise before their owner continued to the dancefloor, becoming just another face lost in the next.

Thankfully I didn't have to wait long before the masses parted and Valen returned.

In the wake of all the lavish beauty around us, I was suddenly struck by his dishevelled appearance. Ash and dirt and various other gunk from the caves of the Underdark adorned his unruly mess of stark red hair. He looked tired and worn. Bloodstained bandages I had tended to encircle a forearm, visible as his dirty sleeves were pulled back to the elbow. Cuts and bruises decorated his face, and mud and dried blood streaked his clothes.

And he looked infinitely better than all of the silk-wrapped drow on the dancefloor.

I shifted uncomfortably when I saw his eyes roam across me, from head to toe; and — from the open amusement in his eyes — I knew that I looked just as dishevelled and out of place as he. I tried not to let my discomfort show and dropped my arm from where I hugged my own midsection.

I blinked in surprise, for in each hand he held — not food, which my stomach so desired — but drinks.

A sheepish expression came over his face in reply to my expression.

The cocktails — for that's only what they could be described as — had been served in tall glass goblets. They were vibrant, glowing purple with a murky, dark violet center.

He ducked his head as he approached, leaning towards my ear and shouting; "It's all they're serving." He was barely audible over the music and chatter.

He pulled back, passing me my drink before giving his own a tentative sniff.

I eyed it speculatively, conscious that Nathyrra was usually our guide to the Underdark and ways of the city.

I strained to hear what he said next. Something along the vein of; "We'll have to make do with our trail rations after this."

I tried to ignore the pang of disappointment his words caused, before immediately pushing it down with an ease born of practice.

Between his first sip and the next, he pulled his lips down in a 'not bad' expression, giving me all the confidence I needed to try the drink myself.

I raised my glass.

"Cheers to slaying dragons," I said. Valen raised his glass in reply, but I suspected he was having just as hard a time hearing as I was — if his blank expression was anything to go by — so I added a quick; "and to dying."

'Past and future,' Enserric added, with altogether too much glee.

The drink was surprisingly strong — despite its deceptively fun appearance — causing me to splutter in surprise. When I took my second cautious sip, I was ready, and actually managed to appreciate the subtle botanical flavours.

Valen took another mouthful — drink almost entirely gone already — his foot tapping lazily as his eyes roamed, surveying the room.

As we drank in necessary silence — the public house too loud for anything else — my eyes ate up the room; from the glowing white hair moving in waves, bare arms reaching for the carved stalactites, to the levitating drow with what looked like a small harp. His fingers were like ebony blurs on the instrument's strings, and I strained to see the rest of the ban, even balancing on my toes.

The third sip of my drink was even better, and I found myself tipping the glass back in its entirety by my fourth and final so that I wouldn't miss a drop.

I strained to find a pattern to the dancing, the drow's twisting and spinning as chaotic as it was beautiful.

Everything about the flowing silks made me want to join the dance, my feet tapping in time and my heart beating in synch.

Near me, a man spun a woman the wrong way — evident from her surprised stumble. This was immediately followed by a resounding slap that landed squarely on the deeply apologetic man's jaw. At her misstep, they immediately began to glow. Eyes narrowing, she dragged him from the dancefloor by the hand, teeth finding his lips as they pushed their way through throngs of people and out of sight.

I shook my head, chuckling and turning my head to see if Valen had seen.

Valen's fingers brushed my own and I almost dropped my glass in surprise. With an apologetic smile, he took the empty drink from me. Almost immediately, a grey drow with obvious human heritage appeared suddenly by his side, placing the empty drinks on the crowded tray vicariously balanced in hand, before continuing on his path to the bar.

And then, ever so suddenly, Valen was being led away by a beautiful drow draped in scarves, one such length of bright red silk wrapped around the back of his neck.

I saw the widening of blue eyes and then he was gone, my surprised bark of laughter drowned out by another swell in the music.

I felt a pang of  _something,_ something that I didn't even have time to digest before I too was being shuffled forward by two more women. They'd linked their bare arms through my own, all high cheekbones and mischievous eyes. I lent towards the shorter one's neck in an attempt to identify the lovely fragrance on her skin.

I should have realised immediately that something wasn't quite right, as I let them lead me forward to join in the revelry. But it felt right in the moment, as the music spun around me, lifting my feet and my spirits.

I laughed in amazement, realising the scent coming off the woman was simply sugar, powdered across her decolletage.

I closed my eyes, letting them and the music direct me; hands in mine, on the small of my back, my hips.

I swayed with them, lifting my arms in the air, body moving like an uncoiling rope. The joy was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart, and all at once I was dancing; one with the music, one with every crazy person in this place.

There was suddenly a drink in my hand and I opened my eyes to thank Valen. As I took an immediate sip I realised that the tiefling was nowhere to be seen. Somewhere in the back of my mind was the collective voice of my parent's, lecturing me on taking drinks from strangers. But I guess they'd never had  _this_ drink before.

It was another of the violet cocktails; all the brighter from the lights cast throughout the room. This one was sweeter than the last, floral flavours swirling through my mouth and warming my stomach as I swayed with the crowd.

The music felt like a drug bringing me higher,  _higher_ until my mind buzzed with pure joy. I felt as if my soul would shine so bright that my skin would start to glow like my aura would become visible.

And I looked down at myself and laughed because it very much was.

I looked up to find Valen and tell him, and then a drow helpfully took my glass.

Then his hands were in my hair, unfastening the cloth that held it back and I was leaning into his warmth. His eyes were on fire and my skin was on fire, and I let the music spin me in a circle, hair billowing out. When I turned he had tied the ragged cloth — in stark contrast to his sparkling bangles — around his wrist. A flash of teeth and he was reaching for me once more.

Laughing, I spun away again, my feet gliding along the floor as I felt hands reaching for me. I turned towards them.

"Valen!" I exclaimed in delight.

And then he was there and I was there, and he was glowing and I was glowing.

It was perfect.

This was dancing and art coming to life. Strong pointed moves didn't matter here. All that mattered was the person in front of you.

And the person in front of me leant forward to say something. I closed my eyes, moving my hips with the music.

I couldn't hear him, but that didn't matter. Who needed words when you could dance?

But it must have been bad because he wasn't dancing, and how could you not be  _moving_? But then his hand was on my back and I smiled as Valen began leading me further onto the dancefloor.

But then the crowd started to thin and I realised we were going the wrong way.

Then he was pushing open the door.

And then suddenly we were spilling out into the dark and the cold and the quiet.

Our glowing skin was casting shadows throughout the street and I lifted an arm in awe, already turning to re-enter the public house because surely this was a mistake? But then Valen's hands were on my shoulders and he was tucking his head towards me.

I leant forward, eyes fluttering closed and breath shaking, but he held me firmly in place; an arm's length away.

I opened my eyes wide, sobered by his rigidity when all I wanted to do was sway and move and enjoy our last night alive.

But his eyes showed the kind of gentle concern that brought to mind someone else's, and that flash of memory — blue eyes turning brown — was almost enough to sober me.

Valen left his hands on my shoulders and spoke with such a soft voice that I felt his words calming the electricity in my muscles, more by the way they were said than the actual words. It felt as if I were wrapped in a blanket of his caring.

And then his words seemed to finally pierce the haze of my mind, and I realised that,  _yes_ ; yes I was hungry. And then he was leading me away from the revelry and colours and life, and towards the promise of food.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following is in Jane's handwriting._

**Muse's Verity**

Well.

This cocktail is an off-menu speciality of Lith My'Athar, intended to be consumed on the eve of battle.

Along with offering the drinker a sensation of extreme mirth and merriment, (ie a magical fucking high) it can grants 30 minutes of telepathy to those already magically inclined.

I guess if I ever wondered if I could take up spellcasting; my lack of telepathic abilities with the drink was my answer.

Apparently, as the liquid is highly volatile, (what's in it is apparently a close kept secret) batches of Muse's Verity are only good for 24 hours from when they are made. Anyone who consumes it after this point is at risk of becoming immediately intoxicated, feebleminded, and then to top it all off - experience a killer hangover the next morning.

If prepared properly, the effects don't last long and no hangover is experienced.

_This is followed by a list of the ingredients she thinks was in the drink; in an obvious attempt to try and replicate the beverage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again everyone for your reviews and feedback, definitely taking it on board. I heard more Valen was wanted and I hope this chapter delivered. (Hope you're enjoying the slight change of pace.)
> 
> Thought I'd share this chapter early as it's a slightly shorter one than usual. More to come soon :) Really looking forward to the next couple of chapters; its what made me want to write this.


	19. Chapter 19

As we sat in Valen's room — which could have easily belonged to anyone, from the utilitarian interior — our backs leaning against his bed frame with rations in hand, the events of the evening came flooding back to me in wave after embarrassing wave.

We sat in silence, realisation of how I had acted causing the words to catch in my throat.

When I looked up and caught him staring at me with a bemused smile on his lips I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and prayed it wasn't noticeable. For something to do, I pushed my wild hair behind my ear, noticing — with an unavoidable blush — that it was already tucked in place.

Catching sight of my skin, I paused, looking down at one side of my hand and then the other in wonder, noting that the glow had already completely disappeared.

Apart from the glow, Valen had seemed barely affected by the drink by the time we'd stepped away from the tavern. Maybe his cheeks had been flushed and yes; his eyes had been alive with light. But he'd been the one to lead us back to the temple, as I'd yammered on about everything and nothing.  _Gods; he hadn't said a word the whole way!_

I didn't even questioned him when he'd lead me into his room; a place I'd never even seen  _him_ enter up until today.

I looked back down at my dinner, pulling another corner of flat bread off as I coughed on the dry food.

Whilst the drink had staved off my fears and inhibitions at the tavern, seeing the increased security outside the temple and then Imloth and two other high ranking soldiers mulling over a map in the front room, had been enough to sober me.

Again, I tried to picture what the battle would look like.  _Like two shadows colliding,_ Valen had said. I frowned, immediately questioning whether he had  _actually_  said that, or if it was a far off memory from back when I'd last played the game.

I shook my head;  _must have still been the drink making my mind fuzzy._

He must have seen the shift that had come over me, as he reached out — hand hovering for only a moment in uncertainty — before landing on my bent knee.

I blinked down at it in surprise, the warmth radiating through my destroyed leathers. I realised suddenly that I was holding my breath. He gave it a gentle squeeze and then, after only a moment's pause, retreated.

Regaining my composure, I twisted to face him, my frown very much still in place.

At the curious tilt to his head and the concern in his eyes, words welled up in me; so many different things that needed to come to the surface, surging forth all at once.

I didn't know what I was saying until I said it.

"I've never been in a war before," I blurted.

The most powerful of all my emotions; fear, pushed to the surface, demanding to be heard above all else. With the admission, dread immediately followed, locking my stomach like a vice and chasing all other emotions away.

Valen's hand was back on his own knees as he considered my words. His eyes roamed the room vacantly, mind thrown back to memories of wars that I could only guess at. Composing himself, he faced me once more.

"My lady," he started, voice gentle. I grimaced at the rigid formality. "I'm sure you've…" He trailed off as I shook my head sharply.

My eyes itched and I bit my tongue to distract from the threat of tears. I needn't have bothered; my deep shaky breath gave me away as I tried to compose myself. I didn't dare look at him, lest he see the glaze to my eyes, so they remained firmly rooted on my bread as I tore off another chunk.

"You'll be the safest of us all," he assured me carefully. "As long as you remain on the ramparts with the other archers." The last bit felt like a warning, as if he was concerned I might be found somewhere else. As if he thought I was capable of heroics.

My stomach clenched, because I knew he was wrong; if that was where it was safest, that was where I would remain.

But he was right about the other thing.

Valen would be in the thick of it, Nathyrra too — and this time, I didn't have room to feel anything as petty as anger, at the thought of the drow.

It wasn't just me that was going to die tomorrow.

I swallowed at the thought, hugging my knees closer to my chest before resting my chin on them.

I wouldn't be able to protect them from this.

And they wouldn't be at my side to protect me.

My mind shied away from the knowledge that I was going to be alone at the end.

"And when they get in?" I asked quietly.

I turned my head, cheek pressed against the flats of my knees, taking the tiefling in.

It surprised me to see he was smirking, his eyebrows turned up in challenge. "Do you plan on opening to gates to them?"

His voice held none of the distrust of days past.

Despite my spiralling thoughts I let a small smile curve my lips in reply to his own.

"No," I whispered.

Little did he know that, the moment I fell asleep, the Valsharess was about to ask me a very similar question. I shied away from the thought, shivering with a sudden chill.

And so, with still so many things left unsaid and bubbling just below the surface, I finished my meagre meal in silence, thoughts drifting.

We sat for some time longer, and then — with a sigh that drew attention to the growing shadows under his eyes — Valen declared that he would collect our gear from the forge, and that I should find what sleep I could.

A quick and simple goodnight — not at all befitting of final words before a battle — and I ducked out into the hall. I didn't look back as I clicked the door shut behind me. I didn't hear it lock.

Standing in the empty hall, I wished, only for a moment, that Nathyrra's door would open and I could clear the air with her. But she either wasn't in, or she — like me — was unwilling to make the first move, so I left even more unsaid.

I entered my room and locked the door — too tired to even think of barring it with a chair, like I had every night that I had slept in the temple prior.

Considering my bed, I wondered, not for the first time, if the Valsharess would simply find another way to reach me if I decided not to sleep.  _Let's see her enter my dreams if she had no dreams to interrupt!_  But the thought was fleeting. I still had to survive the battle of Lith My'athar, and sleep deprivation wasn't going to help.

So I stripped down to my undershirt and — pausing — decided to leave my breeches on, despite how they made my skin itch, unsure how the Valsharess' intrusion into my dream would work.

_I couldn't very well let her catch me with my pants down…_

By candle light, I sharpened my throwing knives and checked the quality of my arrows, and then — with nothing more to preoccupy myself with — I threw myself onto the soft mattress with a defeated sigh.

Lying in bed, I stared at the domed ceiling, the flickering light of the candle casting long shadows. There was a tenseness to my muscles that made me feel more mannequin than flesh and bone, but I forced myself to close my eyes against the roiling fear.

I needn't have been concerned about the lasting effects of the drinks, as all signs of the jovial frivolity from Valen's accidental drugging felt like a lifetime ago.

But, despite myself, exhaustion must not have taken long to overcome me, for — between one contemplative thought about the Reaper's abilities and the next — I was asleep.

Or something like it.

It was like no normal dream, but neither was it like being in the waking world.

The edges of my vision shifted and blurred, forms just out of my sight disappearing in flashes of colour if I tried too hard to focus on them.

And then I blinked — or I experienced it very much like a blink; a short flash of darkness and then sight again — and where there had been nothing,  _she_  was there. And there and there and there. Like a house of mirrors, she was everywhere all at once, each version exactly the same as the last.

Another blinking in and out and she was whole.

My skin tingled, growing to an uncomfortable itch at her proximity, and I recognised it for what it was; the geas, rippling just below the surface.

The Valsharess stood before me, hand on her hip as she considered me from top to bottom.

She was as beautiful as she was harsh, but that was nothing new to those that had met a drow before.

It was obvious that this was a woman highly practiced at seduction, all purposefully accentuated curves and full painted lips — designed  _just so_  to intimidate and distract from her true power.

Her hair was white, her skin a deep blue, her eyes considering, and she wore a sly tilt to her painted lips.

And then it struck me.

It struck me that she was just a drow. Yes, a powerful one, but nothing at all like the all-powerful faceless entity I had built up in my mind. She could be  _any one_ of the many drow that I had passed in Lith My'athar.

And I realised something that my self-pitying of the last few days had not allowed me to see.

Yes; I was going to die tomorrow. And — and this was a hard thought to wrap my head around — so was Valen and Nathyrra, if all went as it should.

But so was this arsehole in front of me.

The point of difference was that  _she_  wasn't coming back.

I couldn't help it; I smiled.

There was a delicious moment where the drow's face washed blank with confusion, like her brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to take in the sight of my unsurprised smile from her wide eyes. Every muscle of her body just froze.

But then the cogs started turning again and she began to pace, an answering smile stretching onto her lips as she forced me to shift to keep her in my sights.

"So," I drawled. All too aware that she couldn't harm me in this dreamscape. "You must be the Valsharess everyone is banging on about." I made a point of seizing her up, eyebrow raised and smile still firmly in place. "I'll be honest, I thought you'd be taller."

She was ready this time, and I was awarded with none of the uncertainty of before.

"Vendure, surfacer," she tilted her head. "I'm glad that we can finally meet. You've proven yourself a powerful female." The next bit was practically a purr. "Together we could accomplish much."

I held up a hand when it looked like she was going to continue, shaking my head. "I'm gonna stop you right there," I insisted, fueled by the confidence my realisation had instilled in me.

The sly upturn to her lips dropped into a snarl and her eyes narrowed. Disgust raged with anger on her features, and I thought that this look suited her much more than the friendly smile of earlier.

She threw her arms in the air. "Die then, with your foolish rebels," she spat, all coiled anger. "I will see you on your knees and you will know what it is to suffer."

"Do you think you scare me?" And I surprised myself by laughing. "All you've accomplished tonight is showing me that it's  _you_  that is scared." She crossed her arms, lip curled in disgust, but I could see that this was nothing like she had been expecting. "I might die tomorrow. But I'm taking  _you_  with me."  _This_  I promised her.

I don't remember the dream ending, but when a knock on my door the next morning woke me, there was still a smile on my lips.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The map is drawn in Jane's usual style. It is almost an exact replica of the one Imloth had created, bar for the greater detail._

_Besides each location is a symbol matching a legacy that names the location and items of note._

**Outer Gates**

Enemies: Duagar, drow, Illithid and undead. _Both the words 'illithid' and 'undead' are crossed out._

Defences: Catapults and archers (including me) on walls.

**Courtyard & Inner Gates**

Enemies: Summoned pit fiends and balors, beholders.  _The word 'beholders' is crossed out._

Defences: Valen, the deva, and half the foot soldiers.  _'Deva' has been crossed out._

**City Core - Docks**

Enemies: Drow marksmen and golems.

Defences: A quarter of the foot soldiers and the kobolds - will probably need assistance. ' _Kobolds' has also been crossed out._

**City Core - Temple**

The Seer, Imloth and the remaining troops will be here tending to the injured. The final point of defence.


	20. Chapter 20

The battle for Lith My'athar had been a long one, and in that regard, it was the hardest fight I'd ever been in. But, thankfully, we'd had the advantage of a defence. I envied none of the duergar that had acted as cannon fodder in the first wave of attacks against our walls. I tried not to think about how many corpses must have littered the rocks outside the city, my arrows sticking from a fair number of them.

Apart from the occasional glance of fiery red hair — and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been keeping an eye out for him — I'd crossed paths with Valen and Nathyrra only once, and it had been hours after the first wave.

Nathyrra had acted as a runner, alerting me with wild eyes that the docks had been taken.

Apparently, the golems from the Maker's Isle had simply walked out of the river and into the city. The drow Imloth and Valen had assigned to the area hadn't been nearly enough of a defence against the magical constructs.

As it turned out, I wasn't going to be able to hide out on the wall until the fighting was done. But that didn't mean I was rushing into danger without backup; my arrows being close to useless against the golems. We needed a mage for this. A mage and Valen.

As I sought out Gulhrys on the battlements, Nathyrra darted back down the stairs towards the courtyard in search of the tiefling.

Unlike the two of them, the wizard and I had met no resistance on our way to the waterfront. Say what you will about the crabby old mage, but greater invisibility spells were the best thing since sliced bread.

At the sight of the devastation left in the golem's wake, I suspected — had we been able to communicate with the kobolds we'd found at the beholder's hive, and been able to convince them to join us — they'd have been just as easily overrun.

It was probably a blessing in disguise.

It was there, taking back the docks, that I realised just how well the three of us had learnt to complement each other fighting styles; Valen capturing our enemy's attention as Nathyrra and I picked them off from both shadow and distance.

But despite our compatibility, I suspected the wizard Gulhrys' aid was the only reason the city wasn't ultimately overrun by the bronze golems.

As we'd finished off the last of the attacking force, I'd found myself wondering idly — as Gulhrys turned an unfortunate golem's stone to flesh — if he'd been one of the sentient beings that we could have swayed to our cause, given the time and resources.

The sight of the fallen drow's bodies — crushed beyond repair — left little room for me to feel bad about ending the golems.

The battle won, the bulk of our troops set off to cut off the retreat, following the horde back to the Valsharess and her devil.

Unsurprisingly, all reports said she hadn't left her tower to join the attack.

And it was travelling towards our enemies city that I found myself considering my supply of potions. We marched towards certain death in a disorganised scattering of drow, myself in the middle of it. My satchel hung off one shoulder as I peered at the contents within.

The Valsharess' troops had wormed their way through the Underdark by other passages, tunnels that were simply impossible for such a large group to follow by.

It was, for this reason, we marched confidently through a wide cavern, meeting no obvious resistance. The cavern's general shape way ovoid, the floor littered by reaching stalagmites. The walls around us curved to the floor, and the walls above arched out of sight, like a starless night sky.

It was the same as the previous cavern, and the one before that; each connected by plateaus of flat stone.

Every now and again a scout would report to Imloth, blades suspiciously covered in gore — but strain my ears as I might for the telltale sounds of fighting — the only noises I could pick up were my own and Valen's echoing footsteps as we navigated the forest of stalagmites with less ease than the dark elves.

Since the docks, Valen had remained by my side; neither of us straying far from the Seer and Imloth, her silent shadow. We would occasionally glimpse Nathyrra with the scouts, but she was always quick to return to her other duties.

Mine and Valen's duties seemed to consist of merely walking where we were told, now that the main battle was done.

And  _that_ I was okay with.

Valen's usually dour face was alive with the light of success, and his smile came to him easily as we travelled through the cavern.

I didn't have the heart to dampen his spirits, but nor could I match his smile.

"Emma," he shook me from my thoughts, as my mind corrected him with a desperate;  _Jane._ His smile was all teeth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "I think I owe you an apology."

I tried not to falter, my fingers stilling in my satchel.

His voice held no reluctance at the admission; his pride overpowered by his sheer happiness.

My surprise wasn't at his words — they rang with familiarity from a time long ago, despite the different tone. Instead, my surprise came from the realisation that I'd been waiting for this conversation, hoping for it. And, also, that I'd accepted that we wouldn't be having it.

After all, this always came before the battle of Lith My'athar.  _I didn't have that wrong, did I? Maybe there was still hope for him following me to Cania…_ I took a deep breath.  _God's, I hoped there was._

I glanced uneasily in the direction Nathyrra had last disappeared, worrying at my lip with the realisation that I wasn't so sure about her following me anywhere.

The drow we currently travelled with kept a respectable distance from myself and the weapon's master, but I had little doubt that they could all plainly hear us, despite his low voice. Looking ahead, my eyes caught the Seer's as she glanced over her shoulder. She gave me an expressionless nod over Valen's shoulder, before focusing ahead once more.

Looking back, I realised with disappointment that the crinkling had disappeared from the corners of Valen's eyes, and his smile had begun to drop at my silence.

I tried my best to return the smile but it came out wan; my cheeks pulling uncomfortably. "An apology?" I pressed.

I hurried to remain right by his side; two steps for every one of his own. He frowned, a slight bunching of his brow that disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

He motioned around us with disbelief. "For  _this_ ," he admonished.

I took in the silent army of drow momentarily, before turning back to Valen's expectant smile.

"Never did I think we would make it here," he shook his head in wonder.

We walked in silence for a few moments more, as I contemplated where we were, what I'd done to get here, and all I still needed to do.

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed his smile had been replaced by a deep frown. He pondered his next words carefully, obviously going over what he wanted to say in his head before speaking.

"You know," he started. "Ever since the Seer foretold your coming, I have resented you." He glanced at me cautiously. "A little."

I couldn't help the scoff that escaped me, but I lightened it with another attempt at a smile. This one came a little easier.

He hurried to continue, eyes straight ahead. "I think… I think it was more because I wanted to be the one who kept the Seer safe."

He shrugged and I nodded for him to continue.

"I had been working so long to save them," he motioned around us, his gesture finally landing on me. "I did not want someone bursting in and taking all the credit."

I followed along with his words, but part of my mind raced ahead; trying to remember what came next. What my role in this was. What I needed to say to get him to help me in Cania.

"So," He shrugged. "I convinced myself that you couldn't be trusted. That perhaps the Seer's vision was wrong." He glanced in her direction, and I couldn't help but think his glance held a tinge of wistfulness. "But you've proven yourself again and again. And now  _this_." Another vague gesture ahead of us before his eyes eventually found my own. "I… am very sorry."

I swallowed at his sincerity, floored by the earnestness in his gaze. Uncomfortable, I tried my best to cover it up, letting a sly smile curve my lips. I gave him a gentle nudge with my elbow.

"Not bad for an untrustworthy human, huh?" I said, throwing his words from when we first met back in his face.

He gave a surprised huff of laughter, shaking his head.

"I'm beginning to think that perhaps we really could win against the Valsharess. For the first time in my life, the end is in sight." His words held such open longing.

'Don't get your hopes up,' Enserric drawled lazily, unbidden from the back of my mind.

I resisted the urge to hush my sword, scratching my ear to distract from the momentary flash of annoyance that had crossed my face.

I silently hoped that Valen hadn't seen it.

But he must have, for his smile faltered too. "I feel I must warn you, however… she may not be our true opponent," he said. "If she holds an archdevil captive, he may indeed be more powerful than she."

I nodded, remembering the drow from my dream the night before. "Without him, she's just any other matron mother," I agreed. "So we find out how he controls him, and then we break it."

My mind drifted to the Relic of the Reaper that lay hidden in my pack. My lifeline. And my curse. I spun the ring on my finger as I considered the power behind the artifact I'd found in the shadow plane, after Undrentide.

All part of Mephistopheles careful plan…

"And then?" Valen asked.

The way he asked it made it clear he didn't know the answer himself. He sounded… lost.

"And then I go home," I answered him honestly.

He looked at me suddenly.

The smile was back in place, but there was uncertainty in his tone when he spoke. "This Waterdeep of yours, the city the Valsharesss is attacking… perhaps I could join you when you return there?"

I scratched the back of my neck in an attempt to borrow time, immediately regretting it at the sight of the embarrassed blush that was creeping up Valen's neck.

His expressive blue eyes betrayed a moment of hurt before he hurried to add; "I was hoping to maybe have a guide to show me around the city."

He looked like he was about to say more, but I raced to repair the damage my silence had caused.

"Of course, Valen," I lied through my smile — immediately thinking of my actual home, and how a tiefling had no place in that world. The next part wasn't a lie. "I'd like that."

His face softened, but the blush was still clear on his pale skin. "I'd like that too."

The guilt was like gasoline in my gut, and his answering smile only served to ignite it. I held my smile.

My shoulders slumped in relief when his eyes shifted ahead once more, settling back into contemplative silence.

One minute passed. And then two. Three.

Guilt was eating at my insides, twisting and clenching. One step. Two steps. Three. I let him lead me through the dark, closer to an end that would be nothing like he hoped.

It was almost a relief when the magic of the teleportation spell enveloped me.

It enveloped me in a gust of wind and harsh white light, halting everyone in their tracks.

As the cavern faded around me, I had the clarity of thought to realise that I definitely didn't deserve the alarmed cry of Emma's name — torn from Valen's lips.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

 _The following section is a tally of shaky lines, some look like they've been done in close succession. For others, some time has passed_ —  _evident from a different style of stroke or new coloured ink._

Total Charges: 20

Sharwyn: I

Daelan: II

Tomi: ~~IIII~~  II

Linu: I

Me: ~~IIII~~ II

Valen: I


	21. Chapter 21

True to her word, when I saw the Valsharess with my own eyes — not those of a dream — I was on my knees, Valen's alarmed cry ringing in my ears.

The Valsharess waited, towering above me on a platform of stairs, almost the same as she had appeared the night before.

Almost.

This time, she made no attempt at smiling; her eyes hard and lips pulled back in a sneer. Atop her head was a new addition; a massive crown of black metal webs, centered upon which sat a gleaming red jewel that hung across her forehead.

In her right hand hung the promise of pain — a long leather whip, coiled in her hand.

Behind her stood the menacing form of Mephistopheles, head bowed in subservience. Of his face, I could only see his midnight black hair and long twisting horns.

I swallowed.

His chest was bare, large expanses of muscled red skin showing from beneath his sleeveless robe. His massive hands were crossed at the wrist in front of him, and his signature trident was nowhere to be seen.

He didn't move, but for the steady rise and fall of his massive chest.

I blinked at the room; my skin tingling from the geas, and my head spinning from the teleportation spell. My satchel had fallen from my shoulder; hanging around my neck like a heavy necklace.

We were in a domed chamber, similar — but oh so different — to the entrance of the Seer's temple. The room was lit by an alter of red candles, light flickering across the harsh panes of the would-be queen's face.

Along the walls waited a coterie of women, all dressed in black with their own contrasting red accessories — a necklace, gloves, a cape, snarling lips painted to match narrowed eyes.

The Red Sisters waited for the command to  _kill_.

And I had no disillusions about my abilities — They would be more than capable of killing me.

Alone, I didn't stand a chance.

"So," the Valsharess started slowly. "We meet again, foolish one." She sneered. "This time in the flesh." Her words ended in an almost purr, eyes narrowing.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I forced myself to meet her eyes. She responded with a pointedly raised eyebrow; daring me to speak as smugly as I had in the earlier dream.

I held my head high.

"You won't win," I told her plainly.

"Oh?" Her eyebrow lifted higher towards her hairline. "I suppose it must seem that way to you." She took a step towards me. "Before I unleash Mephistopheles upon those pitiful insubordinates, I wanted to deal with you first… my guests and my prisoner."

All around me a circle of small glyphs lit up, red on black stone. My prison.

She smiled, but the twisted thing was nothing like the one from the night before. "I believe I promised you pain."

My eyes widened, pausing as it occured to me — all too late — that she might truly mean to torture me before commanding Mephistopheles to kill me.

Adrenaline flooded my system, pumping and beating through my veins as if it were trying to escape.

"You won't win," I repeated, voice shaking.

I reached down to move my satchel aside, eyes never leaving her own. Biting my cheek, I carefully pulled a small flask from the confines within — a move I'd practiced time and time again in the caves when I'd spoken to Valen on the march here.

I could do this with my eyes shut.

She threw her head back, laughing; so confident in her control of the situation that she didn't care to keep me in her sights. I palmed the flask, conscious of the Red Sister's eyes. Confident that I would neither drop it or expose it too soon, I pushed the satchel aside, standing slowly.

Next, I dared to remove my pack — my eyes on her all the while — the heavy comberance dropping to the floor with a dull  _thud,_ my bow with it _._

'I'm here.' Enserric's humm sang through my mind, followed by a wave of reassurance.

Beads of sweat trickled down my cool brow as the Valsharess began pacing, a contemplative set to her harsh features, heeled boots ringing out around us.

"Do you see, now?" she said through a laugh. "Mephistopheles' power is mine to command. He's a hound on a leash." Her eyes flashed, voice dropping. "With him, I will become a  _goddess_."

My eyes snapped from her to Mephistopheles and back. I wanted to run, I wanted to fight. The thudding of my heart surged so fast that I think I almost vomited right there on the temple floor. I could taste saliva thickening in my throat and I swallowed again.

"Mephistopheles," she purred over her shoulder, her eyes locked with my own. "I command you to show this fool surfacer what true pain is like."

She glided down the stairs, the  _click click click_  of her heels ringing in my ears. She didn't even look in the devil's direction as she made for her throne; the design a web of black twisting metal that matched her crown. She smiled as she flicked her red cloak out of the way, sitting back languishly.

My heart thudded louder in my ears as Mephistopheles started to lift his great head.

"Bring this wretched creature a slow and agonising death…. I wish to watch, and enjoy," she hummed, leaning back casually.

His hair fell back, slick black strands falling into his glowing red eyes. They locked onto me, and my stomach clenched like a vice.

He was smiling.

My breathing quickened, legs shaking under my weight.

And then the devil's voice was everywhere; booming, powerful. "I shall  _not_  do as you desire, great Valsharess."

It took a moment for his words to register with the Valsharess, her smile fading and  _then_ her eyes widening in disbelief. And — though she was staring straight at me — she seemed to notice me not at all.

"Instead…" he hummed languishly. "Instead I shall slay your precious Red Sisters."

They didn't die in a flash of fire, or a show of physical strength.

He wasn't even looking at them.

But they started screaming, all at once, all the same.

The symphony of sound tore through me like a great shard of glass, whilst my heart thudded in my chest and my pulse quickened to its limits. The screams were full of denial, pain, fear, and they were all together… human.

I gripped the flask tighter in my hand, the cool glass my lifeline.

The Valsharesss darted to her feet, her whip forgotten on the throne's arm as she considered the dying Sister's, eyes as wide as my own.

I dared to glance at one of the screaming drow as she began to quieten to a shrill whimper.

She was on her knees like I had been only moments earlier, her face washed and eyes wide as she tore at her arms, her face, everywhere.

And then her eyes rolled back in her head and the screaming stopped all at once, cut off as suddenly as they had begun.

She collapsed in a dead heap.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Valsharess spun on the devil, all spitting anger and wild fear.

He crossed his arms over his chest, a smile curving his thin lips. "You are a foolish mortal, drow, like any other. You know not the powers you tamper with." He flicked a hand in my direction and I knew this was my moment. "Now pay the price."

'Fight!' I saw red, and the force of Enserric's thought was enough to slow my erratic breathing.

The flask had already left my hand by the end of the devil's sentence, just as the glyph faded out of existence. It flew true and shattered as soon as it hit her metal-clad back, most of the green liquid fizzling harmlessly on contact with her armor. Most of it. The rest dripped between plates in the armour, some even splashing onto exposed expanses of her chest and face.

Her hiss of surprised pain only just covered the sound of sizzling flesh, as I dove over my pack and bow, drawing Enserric as I charged at her.

Her eyes widened, darting to her whip on the throne, all white around the edges as she realised she was unarmed.

She snaked out a hand; twisting, stretching.

I drew Enserric above my head.

Her fingers grazed the handle of her whip.

And then I cleaved her hand clean off her arm.

In a roar of effort, I slammed Enserric into the throne's arm with a resounding  _thud_.

The Valsharess immediately pulled away, eyes wide in disbelief.

Her hand rolled to the floor.

Her scream was manic; high and pain-filled and  _pissed_. She grabbed her bloody wrist, trying to stem the flow, colour draining from her face as she stared at the severed limb in disbelief.

Then her eyes snapped towards me, and we locked gazes over her bleeding stump, and I didn't have time to relish in the moment.

Blood slid down her arm, dripping to the floor. And yet, even though the pain was clear on her face, the defiant stance and angry crease through her forehead told me she wasn't about to go down without a fight.

I yanked Enserric free, conscious that he was complaining about my treatment of him, but unable to focus on the words.

I darted back, out of her reach as she slashed her uninjured arm through the air to catch at me desperately, magic lighting her fingers with flickering flames.

I darted away, easily dodging her desperate attack and taking on a defensive stance.

She didn't make to approach, instead raising her hand towards me and clenching it in claw as she snarled something in deep elven.

Her fist glowed red — as red as her flowing blood — with the promise of unknown magic.

I searched the room for somewhere to hide. Somewhere to run.

But it was too late.

Her spell grabbed hold of me and I stumbled under the sheer crushing force of it. I braced for the pain, for the coldness of death, but none of it came.

All I felt was drained, hollow. A shadow of myself.

"Oh dear, that looked like a powerful draining spell,' Enserric warned from somewhere far off.

She took a step forward, her clawed hand reaching again, as she shrilly hissed more words. My skin begins to glow, but it is nothing like the harmless faerie fire that I had been spelled with in Lith My'athar, what felt like a lifetime ago.

The pain increased in waves, small lulls giving false hope of an end, as I realised from the wild smile of red slashing her face that she was toying with me. Each peak robbed me of the ability to speak — to  _beg_ — sending me crashing to the hard floor, rigid and unable ot do anything else and the sheer force of hte pain.

I blinked in surprise, aware that we had come full circle so soon, but the thought was chased away by another wave of pain as it seared through my body.

Faintly, I was aware of dropping Enserris, from the clang of metal.

I braced myself, head thrown back and fingers of one hand splayed on the floor, the other holding my boot in an attempt not to simply curl up in the fetal position.

It felt as if my blood had become acid, intent on eating me from the inside out. All I could do was writhe, the occasional whimper escaping to echo beside unhinged laughter.

I forced myself to focus on the source of the laughter, gritting my teeth with the effort.

Her remaining hand clasping her bloody stump, the Valsharess stumbled towards me on long, shaky legs. Her eyes were wide and wild with manic energy as she approached me, stooping with effort to pick Enserric from where I'd dropped him.

She dragged his tip along the ground, her energy lagging, and I heard his indignant shout distantly, as I watched her approach.

She hauled his weight, lifting him with a giant heave until the blade rested atop my shoulder. The edge of the blade cut against the side of my neck, and I hissed with the fresh pain, twisting away as much as I could.

Preparing myself, I tightened my grip on my boot and pressed into the ground with my splayed hand.

I closed my eyes tight, stray tears escaping as I wept at my own suffering with great heaving breaths.

I shuddered as another wave of fresh pain from her spell took ahold of me, gasping as I struggled to breathe.

All the while, the Valsharess pushed more and more weight onto the blade.

I felt the tickle of her ragged breath on my face, the heat of her proximity.

_It would be over soon._

My head fell forward and I forced myself to breathe; in and out, in and out.

Suddenly, the pain settled into a distant throbbing, keeping time with each of my desperate heartbeats, each of my desperate breathes.

In and out, in and out.

I bared my teeth. And then…

And then the blade bit deep and true and my eyes snapped open.

She blinked at me, gaping mouth opening and shutting as she tried to say something. Blood leaked from the corner of her lips, and more yet trickled from the knife I held in her chest.

The one I'd kept in my boot.

She sagged towards me — her blinking slowing, eyes drooping.

And then she collapsed in a heap, a small surprised gasp the last noise she made.

With a shout of effort, I pushed her weight away from me and she fell in a heap on the floor, blood pooling all around her.

I hissed, the burning of my blood finally,  _finally_ gone, with the death of the Valsharess.

I slapped a hand to the side of my neck to stem the steady flow of blood, as I gathered Enserric up with the other.

The blood moved over my hand, the thick fluid no warmer or cooler than my own burning skin

'That level drain won't have done you any favours,' Enserric hummed in warning.

 _I don't need to be at my best for this bit,_ was my single bitter thought as I twisted my neck to get a better look at Mephistopheles. He was leaning casually against the wall, an eyebrow raised and a lazy smile on his lips as he considered the death around us.

I felt the room shift for a moment, blinking in surprise and pausing to gain my balance. The blood at my neck didn't gush in a constant flow as it had only moments ago, but in the time with the stuttering beat of my heart. It was thick, flowing through my fingers as I clasped at the ripped flesh, already slowing as my fluttering pulse became slower, weaker.

I stumbled, reaching out a hand to steady myself and finding nothing.

'Sorry about that,' my sword — stained with the blood of both me and my enemy — offered sheepishly.

The devil stepped away from the wall, considering my struggle with a lazy smile. He clapped slowly.

"You've done well, mortal," Mephistopheles praised me in a low rumble.

I took a shuddering breath, stumbling to the nearest thing I could find and leaning against it with a sigh. The throne was cool, sending a wave of relief through my burning body as I lent my full weight against the arm.

"I thought…" I coughed, feeling blood welling in my mouth. Spitting it at my feet, I tried again. "I thought you were bound to do her bidding?" I hissed out my line.

"Indeed I was," he smirked, eyes twinkling at my pain. "But there are rules, and there are even older rules that I must obey, all of which supersede the bindings the fool drow placed me under." Another chuckle as he took in her still form. "Not that she knew this."

I did my best to raise Enserric, determined that — at the very least — I would die with a weapon in hand.

"She may have summoned me," the devil continued in a friendly tone; evidently someone who liked the sound of his own voice. "But to command me to slay someone that is an extension of myself? That was beyond even  _my_ power." His smile grew, showing his pointed eye teeth. "A pity."

"The relic." I nodded in understanding.

"Correct…" He hummed, eyes narrowing and momentarily put out that I had stolen his great reveal. He collected himself quickly with a nod. "Ever since you found my relic in the Plane of Shadows, you have been bound to it, as it has been bound to you. A most fortuitous event."

"Seems a silly place to leave a piece of yourself," I chided him, hand slipping away from my slick neck as another cough rackled my body.

The edges of my vision darkened, and I slumped against the back of the throne. I felt my eyes fall shut.

_Just for a moment…_

He barked a laugh, a deep booming thing that shook me to my core, causing my eyes to fly open.

He considered me with a shake of his head. "The relic was intended for the leader of my priesthood on this plane… but obviously, it was destined to be found by  _you_ instead." His glowing eyes bored into me. "That is why I called you here." Another chuckle. "I'm always pleased when a gamble turns out so very well."

I considered his pointed tone, throwing back my mind to a time that felt like so long ago, and so very detached from  _this_ moment.

The Yawning Portal's innkeeper, Durnan, had never personally sent word to me that Waterdeep needed champions. Instead, I'd seen a notice pinned to a board outside some church, merely days after Xanos and I had parted ways. It had come at a crossroad in my journey, unsure if I should continue to Waterdeep for the next stage in what should have been Emma's journey, or attempt to find someone powerful enough to portal me home.

The flyer had helped make up my mind.

That, and an idea that had formed in my head and taken root that fateful day…

My shoulders slumped in realisation at how far the devil's reach stretched, even bound as he'd been in the Underdark. He'd probably even sent the helpful priests that had traveled with me to the City of Splendor, when I had become lost in the Sword Mountains.

"And now," the devil's grin was gone, eyes roaming around the room as he planned his next step. "I am free. Able to roam amongst the mortals and bring suffering to whom I wish,  _when_ I wish. And not a one has the power to stop me now, not even the great  _Asmodeus_." The last bit he spat, eyes snapping back to me at the unfamiliar name. "I would start with you, little one, but — since we are bound so closely — that would not be prudent. Instead, I will send you someplace that you may not interfere."

I jolted as my bag shifted, the flap opening of its own accord as the dried husk of flesh that was the relic floated towards the devil's outstretched hand, disappearing from sight.

I tensed, breathing in deeply through my nose.

"I wish you well in the Hells, mortal." He dipped his head, with a sly smile. "You have proven… most useful."

I closed my eyes slowly.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I don't know what I'd been so worried about, because between one moment and the next — room blinking out of focus as another materialised around me — I was back in the Reaper's nexus, Enserricc still clutched desperately in hand.

Cold air blew against the sweat on my skin, and I pulled my hand away in surprise, the blood was still there — still  _warm_ — but the pain was a dull memory, the flesh knitted and whole.

My breathing seemed to stutter in my lungs before I let it go, but as I did I felt the tension drain from my body. My breathing returned to normal and after a few more controlled breaths I felt as if I could finally move without collapsing.

I was ready.

I tried to remind myself that death had been the easy part. This next bit was going to be… well; hell.

I took in the silent form of the Reaper as he considered me, bare boned hands crossed against his cloaked chest as he awaited my approach. Behind him, a door glowed white with promise — slightly ajar — where before it had always been barred from me.

I took another steadying breath.

Now all I had to do was wait and see who of my companions had followed me to their death, and who would follow me into hell.

I felt my heart stutter at the memory of Valen's smile as he'd celebrated the Valsharess' armies defeat, stomach clenching as I remembered the low timber of his voice as he'd apologised.

But almost as suddenly, another memory rose to the surface — unbidden and unwanted — reminding me what he had looked back in the cultist's crypts; dead and broken.

 _This is what I hoped for him. For Nathyrra,_ I pulled my lips up in distaste, wrapping my arms around myself.

I held my head high and approached the awaiting Reaper.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following is in Jane's all too familiar messy scrawl. The pages in this section of the notebook are curled at the edges and more brittle than the others._

**Cania - City of Lost Souls**

The eighth layer of the Nine Hells of Baator. A relentless realm on seemingly living cold. The City of Lost Souls rests upon a large glacier, in amongst a mountain range.

 **Natives** :

Gelugon (ice devils), cornugon (horned devils), pit fiends, imps, ghosts.

 **Other notable races** : githyanki pilgrims, erinyes, cambion and tieflings (baatezu only). Note to self: sometimes a companion with tanar'ri blood is more trouble than it's worth.

**Locations:**

North-east: The Gatehouse

East: Quarry office (run by the pit fiend Gru'ul), carved post

South-east: Carved post

South-west: Hellbreath tavern, carved post

Centre: carved post, crystal

North-west: Carved post, Temple

North: Cave (Cania's very own Fortress of Solitude), carved post

Overall, would not recommend as a holiday spot if prone to frostbite.

1 star rating.


	22. Chapter 22

The familiar hooded figure of the Reapers bowed at my approach, a stilted mocking thing.

"Hail the dead," he said.

Flames that had no place being there flicker in his black bottomless eyes, and I felt myself shiver in spite of myself.

"How may I serve you?" he asked at my steady approach.

I could feel my frustration bubbling up at his coy greeting, not at all different from any of my other deaths.

"I take it you can't return me to where I last died?" I said through pursed my lips.

As I waited for his response, I had to consciously still the tapping of my foot on the floor, jittery energy taking ahold.

_Don't get your hopes up…_

The Reaper sighed heavily. "You have guessed correctly. As always; you're barred from your land. That now extends to the land of Toril, at the command of Mephistopheles. I cannot comply."

"You always do what he tells you?" I pressed him, already knowing the answer and wishing more than anything to skip ahead to the next bit.

"The archdevil uses me as he uses all things. Such is his nature." He sighed. "I was not always his subject." His voice began to almost take on an irritated tone at the next bit. "But once he learned of my True Name, I was his forever."

Capital T, capital N.

"Your True Name?" I pressed quickly.

I straightened, narrowing my eyes at him and waiting to hear this next bit straight from the horse's mouth. I'd always felt like there had never been enough of an explanation around the power of True Names, which had served as the game's Deus Ex Machina.

"All beings have a True Name. It is the definition of their personal essence," the Reaper explained. "Should another learn of your Name and speak it to you, then they will rule  _all_  that you are." He sounded tired. "Mephistopheles discovered my Name long ago, though I know not how. Only he knows it, so he alone commands me."

I spun the ring on my finger as I contemplated his words, mulling over the only True Name I knew off by heart.

 _You just had to remember Valen's True Name, didn't you? You couldn't recall the Reaper's_ —  _or Mephistopheles!_ —  _and saved yourself all this trouble?_

"Mephistopheles used  _you_  as well, creating a Devil's deal that you were unaware of." He explained. "A bond was formed with him the moment you discovered the Relic. And upon killing the one who held him captive, you took his place and he took yours. You are now bound to Cania, as he once was by Asmodeus. "

He gestured to the mist shrouded door at the end of the dark hall, the one which had grabbed my attention earlier. "That path leads to Cania, as it always has, as it has been a part of you since the bond was created." He nodded his head. "It is no longer barred to your passing." His voice suddenly dropped, a sly edge creeping in. " _If_  you were to learn my True Name out there, you could command me to break your bond."

I had been nodding along with his words, but was stilled at his expectant gaze.

"Was there anything else?" He pressed.

I took a deep breath.

"Can you tell me what happened to my companions?"

The Reaper paused for a moment, gazing out into the distance as if searching. A few moments passed, my breath catching in my throat and my heart barely daring the beat.

"The one you call Valen is dead, sojourner."

I released a strangled gasp, covering my unbidden smile with a shaking hand at the news.  _He'd come for me…_

If the Reaper was surprised by my reaction, he didn't show it. I took a moment to let the words settle between us —  _Valen is dead, Valen is dead_  ringing through my head — before pressing for more.

"And Nathyrra?" I asked.

"Alive," he gave a nod, as if listening to some silent conversation. "Retreating with the Seer and her rebels."

I let my hand drop slowly from my mouth, the smile falling as I nodded in understanding. I tried not to feel disappointed, but the fact that she had left me still stung.

"As you are well aware," he started, with the hint of a sly smile in his tone. "Death is only a transitory state. This realm touches  _all_ places."

I perked up at the wording; the Reaper confirming a long-rooted suspicion of my own. An inkling that had caused me to turn towards Waterdeep all those months ago, instead of searching for a portal home.

"But your companion will agree to come, or not — according to their own desires. I cannot compel him to come here. Not in the same way I have you," he warned me, voice flat and brooking no argument.

And then, those fateful words.

"Who shall I summon?" he asked.

I took another steadying breath, clenching my fists and scrunching my eyes tight.

'Valen," I said. "Valen Shadowbreath."

Nothing changed amid the shadows of the Reaper's hood; his hands were still and his face remained blank. But the air in the room shifted and stirred, blowing warm against my chilled face.

On the breeze was a feeling; of pain and shame, stifled anger and fear. But stronger still, beneath it all, was hope, and something so very tentative and small that it slipped through my fingers when I tried to focus on it.

And then, between one terse moment and the next, Valen was there.

He was  _there_ ; as healthy and whole as he'd been the last time I had seen him. The unfiltered smile he'd worn before I'd been teleported away was gone; his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he considered the Reaper, tail flicking irritably behind him.

"Valen," I didn't know I'd breathed his name until he turned to me, head snapping sharply at my voice.

He turned, eyes widening, before relaxing into a genuine smile, all gentle eyes and slumped shoulders. He didn't say anything, eyes roaming across every inch of me, before attempting a single step forward.

I felt my shoulders slump in kind, releasing a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding as I drank in the sight of him.

At the same time I took a step forward to close the distance between us — and immediately thought better of it and retreated — I saw him lift a hand towards me. He paused, eyes searching my own silently, mouth open to say something, before letting it drop between us.

I wrapped the arm that had itched to reach for him — to assure myself that he was real, he was here — across my stomach. I smiled tentatively at his feet, before daring another glance at his clear blue eyes.

_It was so good to see him._

Courage failing me, I didn't tell him just how good it was.

Instead his eyes swung from the Reaper to me once more, gaze turning from pure relief to clouded disbelief. "I was… dead?"

I nodded, unable to speak and his eyes widened in understanding.

"Mephistopheles!" He hissed in sudden understanding. He searched my face once more. "He… he killed you. I was…" he shook away the memory. "He killed me." He managed a shaky breath, pulling back his broad shoulders before stating what I already knew with a clear voice; "He's free."

I drew an unsteady breath, floored by the genuine concern in his tone as guilt ate away at me that I had asked him to come here. "Yes."

And then I told him all that had happened with the Valsharess, I told him about the relic and my link to it, and I outlined our new quest for the Reaper's True Name.

I finished by telling him the name of the wasteland that awaited us.

Cania.

The word hung between us.

He listened silently, hiding his feelings well, but I knew to look. I saw the tightening of his eyes, the stutter between one breath and the next, and the rueful curving of his lips as he considered all it would mean to be a demon in hell.

I pushed aside the guilt, turning once more to the Reaper. He considered us silently.

I'd called Valen to hell knowingly. A place that — if it didn't kill him — would undo years of betterment, of pushing the demon down and controlling the side of himself that he so hated. I couldn't do anything about it, as much as it made my stomach clench and my heart stutter.

But maybe,  _maybe_  I could do something  _good_ …

Maybe this was the reason I was here.

"Can you bring back another?" I asked the Reaper quietly, so very afraid to put these next thoughts to voice.

I'd dreamt of the possibility, but I hadn't let myself fully believe. To truly entertain that it could be a reality.

I couldn't yet.

He tilted his hood and waited. "Who shall I summon?"

"Can you…" I took a steadying breath, eyes firmly on the Reaper's bottomless gaze.

I could feel Valen leaning in, waiting.

I closed my eyes. "My husband." I sighed. "Bring me back my husband."

And then all my hopes and fears where out there for the world to see.

Again, I felt the whisper of a breeze as it stirred against my cheek, and I leant into the balmy breeze with a sigh.

Hope was a funny thing.

It wasn't an emotion, but a promise that you made to yourself. Diving all in and saying 'yes, this will happen' because it can't not.

Hope had kept me going the past year, through Undermountain and towards Waterdeep. After, it had pushed me ever closer towards my inevitable death;  _this_ death. Without the promise of a smile around the corner, light at the end of the tunnel —  _love_ — I would have given up a thousand times over.

The gentle breeze shifted my hair, the smell of freshly mown grass bringing tears to my eyes.

The hope swelled into such longing that I thought I would explode with it.

I gasped out a sob, and suddenly —  _finally_  — I felt whole.

I felt his love envelop me, the warmth of love that I'd feared I'd forgotten — that I would never again find — chasing away my fears, my guilt. It was all worth it for  _this_.

The warmth felt like family, it felt like home.

And it was fading.

My eyes snapped open.

The feeling was fading; the chill of the room creeping in. I tried to grab onto it, but it was everywhere and nowhere and I couldn't stop it.

Between one blissful moment and one of the worst of my life, the loving warmth was chased away by a final wave of beaming pride, tinged with sadness and bittersweet acceptance. It seemed to carry to me on the wind like a whisper.

 _I love you_ , it said.  _I'm sorry,_ was what it sounded like.

And I knew _. I knew._

He wasn't coming.

I felt suddenly like I was drowning and there was no hope of being saved.

_He needed to come back! This needed to all to mean something._

My mind rebelled against the fruitlessness of it all.

_Was it too much to ask that I have this one thing?_

I clenched my eyes tighter still when the memory of his smile was chased away by one of his face; slack with the sickness that had stolen him from me.

The blackness of my memories started spreading through my mind, clouding my thoughts and taking me back to places that I'd never wanted to revisit.

I pressed my palms to my ears, trying the block out the shuddered breaths that had been his last. Trying harder again to block out the thoughts that had swirled through my head, wishing both that the moment had never come and that it would just  _hurry up and be over_.

The wall I'd build against the pain and loss was gone. All that time carefully building it up — playing fun music too loud, hiding behind jokes with friends and family, overworking myself at the office, fighting for survival here, and always  _always_ being exhausted the moment I dropped into my lonely bed — it all came crashing down.

The voice — my innervoice — which told me he was dead and gone and never coming back, it grew louder and louder and louder again.

And then, when all hope was lost — over the memory of ragged gasps that had never been far from my mind, forcing me to always shy from any thoughts of him and me and us, causing me to run from any hope of healing — I heard a voice calling out to me.

It wasn't the name he said that brought me to the surface, but the voice that said it. It was like a small flicker of light in the darkness of my past, and slowly it guided me back to reality.

I distantly felt Valen take my hand in his much larger one, pulling me into the warm embrace of his arms with gentle care.

The ragged gasping died down and I realised suddenly that it had not been my memory, buy my own broken sobs.

Valen held me, fighting the distant memory as I rested my head against his chest; my anchor.

I cried as if my brain was being shredded from the inside, as pain flowed from every pore.

The tears I hadn't let myself cry since he'd died burst forth from me like water from a dam, spilling down my face, my nose. I felt the muscles of my chin tremble as I tried to compose myself with each erratic shuddering breath.

Valen's hand remained around my hand, the other on my back; his warmth enveloping me and his chin resting on my head as I cried until the thought of crying any longer just made me feel exhausted. I stayed in that safe place long past the moment the tears stopped, eyes shut against the world as I built up the courage to go on.

We didn't speak once the tears stilled and my breathing evened out.

We didn't need to.

I let my hand linger in his for a moment longer than necessary, squeezing it as I pulled away from him, unable to meet his gaze, even now —  _especially_  now.

I pulled my chin high, eyes dry and stinging, and head thumping. I ran the back of my arm across the snot and tears on my face with sharp angry jerks, narrowing my eyes and daring the Reaper to comment on it.

Shoulders back, I held the Reaper's unwavering gaze, sniffling and splotchy as I was.

He tilted his hooded head at my sudden change.

"Who would you summon, sojourner?" He asked me knowingly.

I took a deep breath, hand on my satchel, pressed against where I knew the unfinished book waited.

With a final shuddering breath, and a throat raw with pain, I said; "Bring me Deekin Scalesinger."

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following page is written in in Jane's messy handwriting, it's more erratic and larger than usual. The page sits between a page outlining the discovery of the Relic of the Reaper, and an unfinished map of the Frostback Mountains._

_It's the following line, written again and again and again._

Til death do us part.


	23. Chapter 23

"Bring me Deekin Scalesinger."

The Reaper nodded his consent before tilting his head, eyes distant as he listened to something only he could hear.

My thoughts were scattered; torn between deep all-exhausting sadness and nervous anticipation. I could picture it already; holding little Deekin in my arms, laughing at something silly he said as I introduced him to Valen, the two of us exchanging stories just like we had around campfires so very long ago in a place so very different to this…

I shied away from the rose-tinted thought, stifling the flame of hope that had once more ignited in me. I breathed in deeply, bracing myself.

Valen wasn't far from my sights, and I saw my nervous energy was contagious. He ground his jaw in concern, eyes darting between the Reaper and myself nervously. I could see recognition in his eyes, he'd made the connection between my next request and the unfinished book he's read just last week. His arms fluttered uselessly by his sides as he shifted his weight.

And then, a sudden tickle of breeze — carrying the tinkling of wind chimes — wrenching a smile from my wavering lips.

The echo of a chuckle and a wash of childlike awe came next, all followed by the overwhelming knowledge that I was important to this little life force.

The excitement grew, bubbling over until it was my own, and then he was there.

Alive and whole and  _there_.

He blinked into existence, eyes darting from the Reaper to me, a grin of teeth lighting up his reptilian face.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the little kobold cut me off, barrelling into me with a shrill "Boss!"

Sharp claws grabbed at my thigh, his scaled head pushing into my stomach as I gasped out a surprised laugh. Tears —  _more godawful tears!_ — sprang suddenly and unbidden to my eyes, the dam well and truly broke.

I heard Valen's distant chuckle — a deep throaty thing — and I patted a hand to the little kobold's scaled head. He looked up at me, arms still holding my leg tight and little eyes beaming with happiness.

"You bring Deekin back," he said in awe.

His raspy voice — something I never thought to hear again — pierced through me like a lance, and my smile grew to the point of breaking.

I stepped away from the kobold's embrace, taking him in as he considered me with a tilt to his head.

He looked the same as he had the last time I'd seen him. But his shoulders were pulled back more, his stance more confident. The smile was wide and free and uncaring.

Death suited him.

He placed his hands on his hips, not as easily impressed. "Deekin not likes the hair, Boss," he told me flatly.

I pulled at my ponytail with a mock frown, eyes crinkling in delight. I considered just how long it had grown, compared to the styled shoulder-length cut I used to sport.  _It's not like they have stylists on Toril,_ I thought with a roll of my eyes _._

I couldn't help but wonder what other changes he noticed in me, but I was too afraid to ask.

Deekin seemed to finally consider the Reaper and the room around us, brow ridge lifting in surprise and eyes lingering on Valen a little longer than the tiefling seemed to like.

"Deekin, Valen." I introduced them with a smile. "Valen, this is Deekin."

Valen gave a low nod, lips pulled up in a wry smile and eyebrow raised at me as if to say 'really; this guy's Deekin?'

The kobold in question considered Valen with unabashed interest, from the tips of the tiefling's horns to the length of his tail.

"He be part goat, Boss?" The kobold asked me innocently in a stage whisper.

I gasped out a chuckle, more tears springing to my eyes. I covered my smiling mouth with a hand at Valen's indignant scowl.

He opened his mouth to object, but Deekin was already moving on, considering theReaper with a bird-like tilt to his head.

And damned if I wasn't going to let myself get caught up in the whirlwind of emotions with him.

"Deekin remember big, booming voices," he started explaining to me with a nod. "Lots of talking. Deekin thinks it never stop and then  _poof!_ Deekin awake again."

I chuckled again, eyeing the Reaper as he considered our exchange silently.

"What did the voices say?" I eventually asked Deekin through a chuckle.

He put a clawed finger to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully. "Umm… Deekin remembers big voice claim to be Kurtulmak. That be God of Kobolds, Boss. He burps and excuses himself lots. That bit pretty boring. Then lady voice says 'It's a good thing' and gives Deekin a frilly doily." His face lit up at the next bit. "Then boss yells over everyone; 'You gots to finish my story!' So Deekin feel really bad and comes back."

My smile quickly morphed into a surprised frown. "You could hear me?" I pressed, searching his eyes for the truth of it.

He nodded quickly, face a blur of energy. "Boss felt really sad," he shrugged. "Deekin  _had to_  come."

_The connection went both ways?_ My eyes darted quickly in Valen's direction — eyes locking momentarily. He stood apart from us, considering our exchange with a small, lazy smile.

Biting my lip, I focused back on the jovial kobold, kneeling down with a hand on his shoulder as I took all of him in.

I was shifting his leather vest to sit better on his spindly shoulders when he carefully placed a clawed hand over my own; skin cool to the touch. I noted, with a pang of disappointment, that he hadn't sprouted wings as he had in the game.

_Without the experience of the Underdark would he ever come fully into his own and become a Red Dragon Disciple?_

He held my hand in place, blinking at me with a suddenly serious look on his features.

"Deekin happy not to be dead anymore," he assured me, before scrunching his face in distaste. "Death smells funny. Deekin even happier to see Boss again. Finish epic tale." He nodded, the decision made.

Smiling again, I pulled open my satchel, retrieving his book from within and passing it to him carefully. He ran a finger over the blank cover.

"I tried to finish it for you," I explained apologetically with a shrug. "I'm just not as good at it as you are. But I did think of a title; Shadows of Undrentide."

He seemed surprised at my idea, brow lowering in a frown as he said in a bemused rasp; "Deekin didn't know Boss be a romantic."

I scoffed, waving his comment off as he leafed through the pages absentmindedly. Soon enough he landing on the final page with writing, pausing. He ran a finger along the torn edge of the page I'd removed, frowning.

Suddenly, an idea took root.

I didn't give myself enough time to consider it, before I was pulling out my own notebook, placing it on top of his half-finished novel with a triumphant smile.

"I took notes," I told him, hoping to chase away the look of sadness that had crossed his face. "They might help you finish?"

Deekin's head shot up in excitement at the familiar bound book. "Boss' notes?" He hugged the books to his chest. "Deekin been wanting to read about Boss' world!"

I stilled at his wording, smile frozen in place and fighting against every instinct to glance in Valen's direction.

Swallowing, I scrambled to find the right words.

"Yep," I managed, widening my eyes in warning at the kobold. "Always fun to see the world through another set of eyes."

He stilled, looking between Valen and I. Then, very slowly, he nodded in understanding.

I grimaced through my smile.

Deekin was many things, but an actor he was not.

And so I told him how Xanos, Drogan and I had defeated the mysterious woman; who had — as I'd told them — ended up being Heurodis. I skipped over the finer details, pointing him to the notebook whenever he had questions — and  _boy_  did he have questions! I told him with a grim frown that Drogan hadn't made it, hand back on his shoulder as he nodded in grim understanding. And then I told him how I had travelled to Waterdeep, Undermountain and then the Underdark. How I had met Enserric, Valen, Nathyrra and the Seer's rebels; Deekin's eyes widening and hand twitching as he fought the urge to take notes.

Occasionally Enserric piped up in a wild flash of red light, Deekin insisting upon meeting the blade 'face-to-face' with a look of pure awe.

Finally, I told him about the siege, the march against the Valsharess and her devil, and the fateful teleportation spell that had whisked me away just as things were actually looking okay.

I finished my recap with a lacklustre; "and that's how I died," before motioning around the dim hallway of doors with a shrug.

Deekin's eyes darted to Valen, books tilting vicariously as he attempted to point at the tiefling. "And Goat-Man?" He pressed.

Valen's frown was back, deeper than before, as he looked at me in disbelief over the kobold's head.

Deekin waited.

He sighed. "How did  _I_  die?" Valen finally confirmed, blinking in surprise at the kobold. "The same way as Emma." He reiterated slowly.

"Nooooo," Deekin groaned out the word before Valen had even finished talking. He spoke the next bit slowly — as if explaining something to a small child. "Boss be teleported by Mephi… Mepho… by  _bad guy_. You gots left behind." He said pointedly.

Valen glanced at me again, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck. I could see the blush on his throat, his pale skin unforgiving.

I bit my lip to hide my smile, waiting as expectantly as Deekin for the tiefling's explanation.

Valen sighed, shaking his head and waving his hand at us both dismissively.

Deekin raised his brow even higher.

" _Then_ ," Valen glared at the kobold pointedly. "I managed to get into the Valsharess' tower whilst the rebel's attempted an assault." He gave an uncomfortable shrug, voice dropping for the final admission as his eyes sought our my own and held. "To be honest, I'm surprised I made it as far as I did."

My heart swelled as his blush deepened, a gentle smile curving my lips.

"Goat-Man be sneaky?" Deekin pressed quizzically, eyeing the tiefling up and down, altogether unconvinced.

I snorted a laugh as Valen's jaw locked and his eyes widened, silently begging for me to make it stop.

Between us was the unsaid — but very obvious — fact that Nathyrra would have been better suited to infiltration. But that she had not attempted it with him, given that she was currently alive and well. Well, she was currently alive. How the rebels currently fared was anyone's guess.

What Valen had attempted on his own was a half-baked suicide mission.

A suicide mission to help  _me_.

One that, until the Reaper had summoned him, he must have wholeheartedly believed he'd failed.

_I wonder if I'd made a pretty corpse…_ The thought, meant in jest, sent an unbidden shiver up my spine.

I put a firm hand on Deekins shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and drawing his attention back to the present, and away from the not-so-distant past.

"So," Deekin lifted his head at my touch. "Now what?"

We got ourselves ready — or as ready as we could — to brave the frozen hellscape that was Cania, Deekin scribbling down a list of items that we would need, most of which was for him.

Finally, as prepared as we were ever going to be, we bid farewell to the Reaper, promising our return with his True Name.

Then, seconds before passing through, Deekin tugged on my hand nervously.

I turned to him; thinking to dissuade his fears about exploring one of the nine levels of hell. Or about travelling with someone that was part demon. Or about dying in a plane that was meant only for the devils and the dead.

But no.

I couldn't have been further from the truth of it.

"Ermm, Boss?" He shifted through my satchel, now slung over his shoulder. "Has you seen my doily?" He asked me.

"Doily?" Valen hissed in confusion.

When I passed through the portal, I was smiling.

And I didn't look back.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following is mainly written in Jane's hand. However, there is a scattering of notes in Deekin's much smaller style littered throughout the page._

**Cania Local Flora**

**Velox Berries**

_The picture is of a scraggly and scrawny bush. The sparse leaves of the plant are large and waxy, pointing upwards. Deep within the twisting brambles is a scarce scattering of small red berries._

_Jane had written:_ Found where wind cover is provided. The leaves can be brewed into a tea that seems to have some warming properties. The berries are mildly explosive; use one to three to start a fire. Without them, it's almost impossible in Cania.

_Deekin has written:_ Yep, Boss right. No more than three!

**Kanishta**

_The drawing is of a short plant that seems to grow in tendrils across the ground. Below the surface is a big dark-coloured root._

_Jane has written:_ Can be chewed on for temporary relief from the cold, bringing a sense of renewed strength.

_Deekin has written:_ Bitter. Freezing better than eating this root.

_That's all that's on the page, taking up but a quarter of it. It's obvious Jane expected to find more plants than she did._


	24. Chapter 24

The wind howled — a swirling storm of screaming silver and white — piling snow against anything that dared stand in its way and blinding the world with ice-white dust.

My excitement and relief at finally,  _finally_ being out of the Underdark; with nothing but the sky above me, lasted for all of a second.

Now, I trudged through the fresh snow, back bent against the freezing cold as I attempted to protect my eyes with my arm. Valen walked ahead and I did my best to retrace his steps, using his much larger body as a wind-block.

Pillars, buildings, the occasional wandering humanoid shape; they all loomed in my vision for never more than a moment before vanishing, swallowed in white. As we walked, the time between each fuzzy glimpse of  _something_ became shorter, until — if I squinted enough against the eye-watering winds — I could see the towering heights of the buildings that made up the City of Lost Souls.

The city looked like an unfinished painting; so much of the canvas still perfectly white, as if waiting for the artist's hand to return.

 _Then again, the artist's hands had probably fallen off from frostbite_ , I thought bitterly. I sucked in a sharp breath of bitter laughter, immediately regretting it as my teeth stung from the cold. I snapped my mouth shut, lips cracking and splitting.

Since leaving the Reaper's gate house, we'd been walking for no more than ten minutes; Deekin stumbling through the deep snow by my side with awkward little hops whilst Valen marched silently ahead, tail flicking irritably. He was little more than a crude outline, at risk of being erased by the storm if I let the distance reach more than a few feet.

The tiefling swung his head from left to right as we walked, shoulders tense and hand always on his flail's hilt. Occasionally he would freeze — attention snapping in an impossibly white direction — his nostrils flaring and his body coiled and ready. But each time nothing came of it — no monstrous devils charging out of the whiteness and no sounds could be heard over the insistent howling of the wind. The tense seconds would tick by before the weather forced us to continue our march deeper into the frozen city.

The only saving grace was that this was —  _apparently_ — poorer weather than usual for the city, if I'd heard Valen's faint shouted words correctly, upon arrival. So, nothing else possible in this blinding storm, we sought temporary shelter from the blizzard; the promise of food, warmth and information spurring us on.

I suspected it wasn't just pure luck that found us at the Hellbreath Tavern, Valen seeming altogether unsurprised when we found it.

I started at the sight of three men lingering at the edges of our vision, not far from the tavern's door; as white as the snow and seemingly uncaring of the raging storm.

 _No,_ I realised as I squinted their way.  _Not white; transparent._

_Ghosts; the Lost Souls after which this city was named._

They didn't pay any attention to the passing tiefling — who in kind ignored them — it was Deekin and myself that drew their surprised eyes. They talked amongst themselves, their words carrying away from us on the wind as we pushed towards the tavern.

The building in question was squat and angular, seeming to burrow into the soft ground, away from the raging storm. The tavern's door was impossibly clear of snow, and it didn't take me long to realise why. I rubbed a shoulder against it as I squeezed past Valen, realising with a start that it was warm to the touch.

 _And so was Valen_. The last part I realised with a blush, warmth radiating from him in our moment of closeness. A blush warmed my cheeks, followed by plain old jealousy that he could be so warm whilst I was so damn cold.

The door slammed shut behind us and I suddenly remembered what experiencing sounds —not just the white noise of screaming winds — felt like. It surprised me to discover that the Hellbreath Tavern sounded just like any other pub. Idle chatter, cut through by the occasional shout or holler and the scraping of stools, wound its way up to us. Over the top of it all, was the repetitive beating of a drum.

"Ahh," Deekin hummed in contentment, voice chattering. "It be much warmer in here. Deekin grateful for small things, you know."

I found myself agreeing.

We wound our way down a spiralling flight of stairs, passing noone — nobody being stupid enough to brave the raging storm outside. Other than us, that was.

As we descended, it became infinitely warmer, the frost that had found its way inside my cloak melting and feeling finally returning to my icy cold face. I was rubbing feeling back into my hands and blowing warm air into my gloves, when the stairs finally widened and candlelight streamed in.

I didn't notice that Valen had frozen on the spot.

I stumbled straight into his back with a surprised  _oof,_ bouncing off of him with a frown _._ He didn't seem to care, staring out at the room that greeted us, his back ramrod straight. I squeezed around him to get a look at the tavern.

Some faces lazily turned to identify us, but most kept their eyes downturned and firmly on their drinks. It was a mismatch of races that greeted us, and as much as I'd been preparing myself for it, the sight still took me a moment to accept.

On a table not too far from us, two tieflings — with varying devilish qualities — played a silent game of cards, smirks on their lean faces.

Slaadi workers huddled in the far corner, nursing drinks in their grey webbed hands and staring vacantly at nothing.

Only a few feet from them, two red imps — perched atop the backs of their own chairs — chattered in hissed words I didn't understand, leathery wings flapping irritably as they eyed off the lighter coloured imp playing a drum in the rafters above.

The bulk of the patrons consisted of green skinned Githzerai, greying from the lack of sun provided by Cania.

My eyes roamed over two women that could only be Erinyes; the impossibly tall devil's beautiful in a way that screamed  _danger._ Their matching red hair rivalled Valen's own in vibrancy, stark against their feathered black wings and grey tinted expanses of skin. Their bottomless black eyes considered us thoughtfully, lips curved up in sinister red smiles. Their eyes roamed over me lazily, before landing on Valen, narrowing in suspicion.

"Ummm…" Deekin began, peeking out from between us. "Those ladies look a little cold, Boss."

I snorted, pushing the kobold back as he tried to squeeze past us to get a better look at the room. I kept a hand on his shoulder to keep him from simply charging ahead to investigate on his own.

"They're devils, Deekin," I hissed quietly. "I don't think they get as cold as we do." I glanced at Valen for confirmation, who'd seemed largely unaffected by the blizzard's cold wrath.

Hand still on the disappointed bard's shoulder, I gave Valen a gentle nudge. The tiefling jolted slightly, looking down at me with a surprised frown, as if only just now realising I was there. For the barest of moments, annoyance flashed across his features, causing me to pull back slightly in surprise. But then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a careful blankness. Frowning, he looked away and back out at the tavern, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed deeply.

"My demon's blood will make me even less welcome here than you," he warned me gruffly, teeth clenched.

I considered the side of his stern face for a moment, before attempting a smile. "Good thing we're not here to make friends," I said through a careful smile.

Straightening my back, I pushed past him, making for the bar.

Glancing back, I noted Deekin following close on my heels and Valen as he stomped after us, hand still very much on his weapon as his eyes darted all around.

I faltered between one step and the next in sudden surprise.

The bar was served by a massive black and blue dragon, his long scaled tail running along the bartop as it flicked empty glasses towards a hurried imp. The imp hissed, swooping in and collected them in clawed hands. Sighing in relief, it flapped its wings, hurrying away to wash them.

I swallowed.

_I'd almost forgotten about that part._

"A dragon!" Deekin gasped in excitement, grabbing my hand to make sure I'd seen the giant hulking creature.  _As if anyone could miss it!_

He was definitely the strangest tavern keeper I had ever seen. But, then again, this was definitely the strangest tavern I'd ever been in.

_Only in the outer planes…_

Approaching the bar, I felt — well, unnerved would be an understatement — but I felt overall put out beneath the dragon's malevolent gaze.

"Deekin  _told_ you they can be friendly," the kobold exclaimed.

The dragon's level of friendliness was yet to be seen.

"Can I get you something?" The dragon growled irritably, the corners of its mighty maw curling up in what looked to be an angry sneer.

I breathed through the fear. "Do you have something to help us defrost?" I asked, rubbing my hands again.

The tavern keeper smiled the toothy smile of a true businessman, and I shied away from the large stained fangs. "I brew a fine Velox Berry Firewater, but supply doesn't keep up with the demand around here." He hummed. "You'll earn yourself a pint for every five berries."

I felt a hollow pang of disappointment, before asking after rooms. " _Room_ ," Valen corrected me, eyes still roaming around the tavern's barroom, and still very much on edge.

The dragon's warm breath smelt like a rotting carcass as he grinned toothily at the jumpy tiefling.

So we paid for a single room for the reminder of the day and night, before thanking the dragon awkwardly and taking our leave.

Key in hand — placed there by the hurried imp from earlier — we pushed our way through the room, Valen keeping a very intentional distance from everyone, my giant hulking shadow. As we walked I took in the vents that lined the stone walls in appreciation, steam curling out from whatever depths they attached to.

The room was connected to a slightly smaller chamber, with a scattering of benches set up beside long tables. Within the room was a thinner scattering of the same mix of patrons, with the addition of a handful of ghosts.

We didn't linger, making towards the only hallway, Valen silent and Deekin busy taking in the surroundings.

Walking down the hall, I matched the symbol embossed on the metal key with its counterpart, carved in the middle of a thick wooden door about halfway down. The sounds of the bar were distant, but every crash of furniture and every clink of glass set Valen's teeth of edge, the muscles in his clenched jaw popping.

We made our way inside the small room, Valen slamming the door shut with a sigh of relief

As soon as it was shut, he locking it, resting his back against it.

The room was sparse; floors, walls and roof all made of the same plain brown stone; bare of decoration, bar the wall-mounted candelabras. In the middle of the room was a lone double bed, rickety and wooden framed. It barely looked big enough for two humans, and I worried my lip as I considered what our sleeping arrangements where supposed to be.

But — most importantly of all — the small roam was toasty; thanks to another of the metal grates in the floor, glowing with heat.

I sighed, shucking off my cloak and laying it flat on the bed to dry. Shaking out my arms I threw my soggy gloves down onto the bed as well, before settling down next to them, grimacing to find the mattress lumpy and hard.

Deekin dropped his satchel to the floor, bending down to try and peer through the grate with an inquisitive tilt to his head. Both his and my book were already grasped firmly in his claws, an inkwell and pen balanced dangerously on top.

The silence stretched between us as we all took a moment to appreciate the warm reprieve.

As was becoming the trend, Deekin interrupted it.

"Deekin going to go ask around tavern about city," he told the grate, before peering up at me.

I frowned, opening my mouth to object before he silenced me with a hiss and a scowl.

"Deekin been without Boss for  _long_  time," he tutted. "Can go a few hours without anything bad happening."

He rolled his eyes at the tiefling, but the man in question obviously wasn't listening.

Valen's eyes were shut and he was completely rigid, still leaning heavily against the door.

"Fine, Deekin," I sighed in defeat. "Just take a weapon. And  _be careful_."

He looked at me with a raised brow. "Pen be mightier than sword, Boss," he objected.

I raised my eyebrows right back at him before he sighed dramatically.

Defeated, he reshuffled, shoving a dagger from my satchel into his waistband, before lifting his belongings once more with a look that screamed 'now are you happy?'

At my hesitant nod, he beamed at me before hurrying to the door.

I briefly considered going with him — but then I remembered the hungry stares of the Erinyes and the slack-faced group of slaadi — and immediately thought better of it.

_Deekin was a grown arse kobold, he knew what he was doing…_

Valen opened his clouded eyes at the expectant kobold's approach. They considered each other silently, before the tiefling took a deep breath in annoyance. He silently moved out of the excited bard's way.

A quick 'see ya,' and Deekin was gone, door slamming behind him.

Leaving just Valen and myself, waiting out the blizzard.

The tiefling seemed at a loss as to what to do, eyes drifting between me and the sparse room, frown still very much in place. Blinking, he seemed to make a decision.

He shifted down the door frame to sit, leaning his back against it once more. His knees were pulled up, arms crossed over them as he considered his hands absently.

"You should get some rest," he said without looking up. "A storm like the one we just came from isn't going to let up any time soon."

I pulled my legs up onto the bed, crossing them at the ankle and resting my chin on my hands as I watched the tiefling with a concerned frown.

The change in him between the gate house and here was palpable, from the slouch of his shoulders to the light clouding of his usually clear blue eyes. He had always been quick to frown, but the lines in his face seemed all of a sudden deeper, more worn.

Some time passed before I could take the silence no longer.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

He blinked up at me, frown deepening in confusion. "Am  _I_ okay?" He asked incredulously after a moment.

I immediately braced, ready for him to launch into a rant about the misfortune of being dragged into the hells. I was ready for it.

I deserved it.

But then his face immediately softened.

"Am  _I_ okay?" he repeated in whispered disbelief, managing a small chuckle. It held none of the angry cynicism I'd misconstrued from his earlier comment; only awed surprise. "You're asking  _me_ that? After…" he paused, searching for the right words and coming up short. "After everything that just happened."

I blinked back at him in surprise. My stomach clenching as I pushed aside the memory of my broken sobs. Instead, I did my best to consciously focus only on the long-forgotten love that I had felt, if only for a moment. I hugged my arms around my shoulders, finding myself smiling faintly at the memory of the warm comfort I had felt both then and afterwards, in Valen's arms.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He asked quietly, eyes still downcast

I frowned. "And say what?" I stuck my arm out and pretended to shake an invisible hand. "Hi, I'm…" I stumbled over my name momentarily. "I'm Emma; adventurer by day, widower by night. Pleased to meet you."

My voice broke at the end, the word 'widow' never having entered my vocabulary before. My thoughts; yes. But never had I put it out there for the world to hear.

He finally looked up, eyeing me with a raised brow. But he didn't smile at my joke, like I had secretly hoped.

"Of course not," he dismissed my joke for what it was.

I noted absently how he still held his back straight, and the deep line above his cloudy grey eyes. He kneaded his hands together, unable to be still, as he considered his next words.

"But," he paused, eyes searching my own. "But you've kept it all in." He held a balled fist to his chest. "I don't really know anything about you, about your past. I had hoped that we were…" he floundered, before settling on; "Friends."

A light blush settled over his cheeks, but he seemed content with what he had said. I realised that his eyes were clear and blue and brilliant once more.

The smile that pulled at my lips happened very much of its own accord as I nodded. "We are, Valen," I whispered. I cleared my throat, sitting up straight and adding; "Which is why I asked if you're okay." I waved a finger at him. "And don't go turning this around on me again. I've had just about enough crying for a lifetime, thank you very much." My voice wavered again, despite the joking nature of my comment.

He swallowed, face taking on a pained expression as he rested his head back against the door. "I told you of the Blood Wars, did I not?"

I nodded with a wavering smirk. "I believe I was a smart arse and told you I already knew about them; but yes."

He nodded once, smiling flatly at a memory; of his past or my prior dismissal of his attempts to share himself with me, I wasn't sure.

"My tanar'ri blood calls out for me to destroy everything baatezu," he eventually admitted.

His voice wavered ever-so-slightly, and his hands were shaking. He opened his eyes, glancing at me and then his hands with darting eyes, before shifting, so they grasped his armoured knees in a white knuckled grip, instead.

He tried for a casual shrug, but it came across as rigid and jerky. "Honestly, I do not know how the devils in the other room don't descend upon me as it is."

Quietly, I asked; "Are you going to be able to hold out? We've got a long trip ahead of us."

He took another calming breath, blue eyes locking on my own. "I believe so," he finally managed with a weak smile. "It will not be easy, but I think I can control myself."

I felt a prickle of familiarity at the direction of our conversation but chose to ignore it, focusing only on the man before me, instead.

Slumping, I whispered. "I'm sorry."

The guilt and pain of the day washed over me. I'd known how difficult this would be for him, and I'd still made him come. I needed his help, regardless of what it would cost him.

" _You're_  sorry?" He repeated, frown deepening. But my apology made the corners of his eyes crinkle in a gentle smile.

Only Valen could frown and smile, all at once.

"For all of this," I jutted my chin at the wall, back in the direction of the bar and the devils.

He considered me thoughtfully, giving nothing away.

And then, for the barest of moments, I thought he was going to get up, his body tensing and feet shifting. But then he seemed to think better of it, settling back against the door.

The seconds ticked by, before he finally said; "You have nothing to apologise for." This he insisted with a rueful chuckle. "Now, Mephistopheles, on the other hand;  _he'll_  be sorry." A wicked smile curved his lips, blue iris' shifting grey before my eyes.

I felt myself returning the smile. The guilt that had wound itself around my stomach, pushing down on my chest and making it hard to breath, lifted; ever so slightly.

"Well," I mused. "I'm happy you're here with me. I don't think I could do this,  _be_   _here_ , without you." I hurriedly added; "Deekin too."

My smile widened at the kobold's name, unable to truly believe that he was  _here_.

"He is…" Valen's frown deepened, trying to find the right words, before finally settling on; "not what I expected."

And so we sat like that for a time, the door between us and the devil's beyond barricaded by Valen's back, as I told him all of the very best stories of my time travelling with Deekin.

Valen's frown lifted as each story became wilder than the last, his eyebrows rising and smile lighting up his eyes as he chuckled along with me.

We sat like that long enough for me to unwind my scarf and unbutton most of my leather top to reveal the slip of a shirt beneath; the room impossibly warm despite the raging cold that was waiting for us outside.

As we spoke I sipped from my icy cold water skin, shucking off my boots and wiggling my warming toes as I settled onto the bed. I told Valen about Deekin's old boss, the cranky old white dragon with a soft spot for the hard, all the way to the Ao worshipers had thought me their god incarnate, before Deekin had very adamantly insisted otherwise. We chuckled as I recounted the cheeky kobold's response.

But my laughter quickly became a yawn, and I found myself rubbing at the tears that pooled in my eyes and hoping that Valen thought them just a product of my sudden exhaustion.

"Take the bed," Valen insisted after a moment of consideration.

I frowned, looking down at the space still available and — without thinking — said; "It's probably big enough for two."

I didn't think anything of it before the blush began to creep up Valen's neck. He offered another deep chuckle, shaking his head to cover his discomfort.

"I doubt I will sleep tonight," he shrugged me off. "You and Deekin take it, I'll keep watch."

I frowned. "We can't have you collapsing from exhaustion out there," I insisted, attempting to keep my tone light.

I doubted my aim was going to be at its best with my hands wrapped in gloves and shaking from the cold. And Deekin, whilst a welcome addition, could offer only support.

Any hope of escaping Cania intact hinged entirely on Valen.

"I do not need as much sleep as you do," he explained. "Another  _benefit,_ " he turned his lip up at the word, "of my demonic blood."

"I didn't realise that," I said with a frown, thinking back on the game and what I remembered of tieflings from my younger years playing D&D.

"And how could you? It is not as if we have spoken about it. Unless…" his voice took on a teasing tone, a wicked smile curving his lips. My heart jumped unexpectedly. "Have I not been the only tiefling in your life?"

His tone was light, but it shamed me to acknowledge the truth of it. Any conversation that hadn't immediately turned to his fear of my betrayal, I had wrapped up as quickly as possible, only putting in the necessary effort needed to get him to follow me to Cania.

I'd kept everybody at arm's length.

Him especially.

"One tiefling is plenty," I smiled to show I was joking. I stretched my arms, my shoulders popping in protest. "But I could do with some of those benefits," I admitted wistfully through another tired yawn. "You'll have to tell me about them all sometime," I said.

It was only once the words left my mouth that I realised how they seemed to ring with insinuation. My eyes widened, and — to make matters worse — I glanced suddenly at his tail, curved languishly around his thigh.

I heard him chuckle lightly in response, and the only reason my cheeks didn't burn with embarrassment was that he didn't seem to notice my awkward pause.

Beyond thankful, my eyes found his again. But — at the curious tilt to his head and the unfamiliar, considering look in his eye — I suddenly wasn't so sure.

Determined to move on as quickly as possible, I shuffled up the bed, dropping my cloak and gloves to the floor and wriggling below the thin, itchy blankets.

"Wake me if Deekin's not back soon?" I asked quietly, once I was settled.

"Of course," he promised.

He held my gaze for a moment, before settling his head back against the door and closing his eyes.

It took longer than I expected to get comfortable, my mind exhausted but my newly revived body full of nervous energy.

_What time was it? Was it even night, yet?_

_Would the weather ever let up or would we be forced to travel through it?_

_How long has Deekin been gone?_

_Was I hungry or just bored?_

I tossed and turned, reaching below the blankets at one point and shimmying out of my leather breeches in an attempt to get more comfortable. Stretching out from under the blankets, I quietly placed them on the floor with my other belongings.

Before settling back, I glanced in Valen's direction, surprised to find his eyes still open.

He was staring down at his hands and — if his deep frown was anything to go by — mulling something over. Sensing my attention, his gaze snapped up to meet my own.

He smiled lazily, opening his mouth to say something, before the door handle gave a tentative wiggle.

His posture immediately straightened, and he reached for his weapon. I was already pulling the blanket back, reaching for the knife I'd left under my pillow, when Deekin's ignorantly cheery voice reached us through the door.

"Boss!" He called. "Deekin gots dinner!"

It wasn't much later — my stomach uncomfortably full and everyone that I cared about in this little room with me — that I found I could finally get comfortable.

And, as much as I worried for the tiefling, it helped knowing that Valen was watching over us.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

The following is in Jane's messy handwriting, and is wobblier than usual; probably written without a surface whilst standing.

**The Five-Fold Mysteries of the Sleeping Man**

Who is he? A planetar, a creature of good.

From where did he come? From Elysium.

Why did he leave? His heart had known no love. (Bleh!)

Who did he seek? The Knower of Places to ask her where his love would meet him.

What was the answer? She will find you by the Gates of Cania.


	25. Chapter 25

Even had I not known about the Sleeping Man, his presence in Cania would have been impossible to overlook for long. It seemed everyone at least  _knew_  of the foreigner.

His name instilled in the natives a mix of distaste and fear, and the githzerai — who had come to the frozen hell specifically to see him — seemed altogether unimpressed. Despite this, the later had apparently been more than willing to discuss the disappointing planetar that was the Sleeping Man with Deekin, the little kobold bubbling with enthusiasm as he told us everything he knew about the man and his temple as we ate breakfast in our room the next morning.

Now, we trudged towards said temple through the fresh snow, Valen once more in the lead. As soon as we'd been back on the cold surface, he'd shouldered past me silently, cautious eyes darting all around us and a hand on his weapon. The gentle, blushing man from the night before might very well have been a dream, for all this tiefling was like him.

Any devil that looked at us for too long was met with narrowed eyes and bared teeth, Valen's tail flicking irritably as he stomped through the snow. I kept my head down, both from prying eyes and in an attempt to hide from the blistering cold. Deekin showed no discomfort, cold though he was — apparent from how his hands refused to budge from under his armpits — hopping along excitedly behind us and taking in the sights.

An imp took flight at our approach, causing Valen to flinch, feet shifting back into a defensive stance. The little leathery creature cackled at the tiefling's discomfort, before disappearing overhead into the misty white sky. As the seconds ticked by and he realised we weren't under attack, Valen shook his head roughly before continuing ahead, shoulders bunched up tensely around his ears.

I didn't dare get in his way.

The wind was blissfully still, but the temperature was still well below freezing, my face — the only bit of me that was exposed to the elements — stung from the chill air.

No more than ten minutes into our walk — my eyelashes already feeling like icicles on my cheeks — we approached three erinyes out the front of a factory. One held a wrapped cigarette of some kind in her long-fingered grip, a faintly earthy smell carrying to me with the smoke. She muttered something to one of the others as we approached — too quiet for me to hear. But I didn't need to hear them; I got the gist of it from the sly turn to their lips and their hooded eyes. One even had the gall to raise her eyebrows at me, little black tongue licking her bottom lip suggestively.

Without warning, Valen unclipped his flail, making a beeline for the group.

"Fuck a duck," I swore, hurrying to catch up to him, Deekin close by my side.

Enserric flared to life at the promise of a fight, and I did my best to block out his silent call for bloodshed.

The erinyes' eyes all lit up, their smiles growing at Valen's challenge. One flicked the cigarette into the snow, placing her now empty hand on her cocked hip.

The true purpose for their open attention upon me was all of a sudden very clear.

They'd been purposefully riling up the already openly coiled tiefling.

Their clawed fingers splayed as they planted their feet in the snow at Valen's approach.

He tightened a hand around his weapon and began to draw, and —

— and I stopped him with a hand on a shoulder, pulling him back roughly with no small amount of effort.

I locked eyes with one of the women, willing her to stay in place.

"Let's go, Valen," I grunted before finally daring to look at him.

His swung his head towards me, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring.

…But his weapon remained holstered.

I dropped my hand, pulling away from him and motioning back in the direction we'd been marching.

I heard one of the erinyes give a low whistle, followed by the throaty chuckle of one of her companions. At the open taunt, Valen's eyes clouded over in anger, body tensing and ready to turn back to them.

Impulsively, I reached out a hand to grab his chin, forcing him to look at me.

I expected resistance, for him to continue. He could have easily, I was no match for his strength. But I was met with none. Only surprise. His lips pulled down in a deep frown as he considered me with wide eyes.

"There'll be devils for you to kill later, Valen," I hissed. One of the erinyes chuckled lightly and I did my best to hold his attention. "Now isn't the time. Or the place."

I glanced over his shoulder at an imp — perhaps even the one that had spooked him earlier — settling on the stoop of a nearby building, lips pulled back in a sinister smile. Another fluttering of wings and a second one landed by its side.

I locked eyes with the tiefling again, tightening my hold on his chin.

"Later," I repeated; quieter, but no less stern.

I could feel the warmth of his skin through my gloves, the tickle of each of his shallow breathes on my face, eyes darting between my own.

And then he closed his eyes, taking a deep breathe in, opening his eyes again slowly on the exhale.

Deekin looked between us, eyes narrowed slightly with the look of one attempting to mentally solve a complex mathematical equation. I noticed his thoughtfulness and carefully removed my hand from Valen's jaw.

Thankfully, he took my advice, huffing in frustration before starting again in the direction of the temple without a glance back at the woman he'd nearly challenged to a fight for looking at us wrong.

At  _me_ wrong. I curled my lip.

The imps fluttered their wings in disappointment, and I caught one of the erinyes blowing me a kiss before I jogged to catch up with Valen.

I mulled over the events as we walked silently, considering the erinyes and imp's actions; ultimately surprised by their control. Valen's comment from the night before was running through my head, from when he'd noted his surprise that the devil's in this place didn't attack him as he wished to them.

And it occurred to me; the difference between him and the devils. What he'd been trying to warn me.

The devils here were creatures of evil, yes. But devil's were lawful beings, happy for a chat but as likely to kill you if they thought they would win. Mephistopheles was living proof of that.

But demons?

Demons were pure chaos.

And every day, every  _minute_ that we were in Cania brought that bit of Valen closer to the surface.

It was one thing to know it, but it was another thing entirely to see it.

The rest of our walk was uneventful, but the ease in which Valen had been almost moved to mindless violence left a pit in my stomach that lingered well into the day, dulling my enthusiasm as we got the information we needed from the sensei at the Sleeping Man's temple.

The sensei had been a tall grey-skinned githzerai, strong wiry muscles rippling just below the surface. At first, she'd appeared calm, her countenance sombre, but her brilliant yellow eyes had been that little bit too wide, her unblinking gaze lingering a moment longer than comfortable as we'd approached her.

I'd thought it was just my knowledge of her zealotry that made me see these things in her, but a glance in Valen's direction found him staring right back at me with a raised brow.

"Greetings Emma," she'd hummed at my approach, an innocent tilt to her head. "Is that what you would like me to call you?"

I'd spluttered, barely managing a pointed; "How do you know my name?"

The rest of our interactions, despite her psychic abilities, passed without further issue. She told us what I'd already known — if we wanted to see the Sleeping Man, we'd need to prove ourselves. And to prove ourselves we'd need the answers to her so-called Sleeping Man's Five-Fold Mysteries; all gleaned from the surface of his thoughts as he slept in the room over. She gave us the answer to the first question, to get us started, and — after some prodding — admitted that the fourth question's answer was in the temple's library.

As expected, I'd sent her into a fit when I'd questioned if he could be woken; the very idea sacrilege to her. She'd even suspiciously likened me to a tiefling named Arden Swift, who had  _dared_  to try something similar. I did my best not to let my satisfaction show at the information.

Then again, I wouldn't have to do this whole song and dance if Valen knew the truth about what I knew…

I shook my head and let the thought die there.

What I didn't know was what we were going to do once we got entrance to see the Sleeping Man.

Would we be able to glean what we needed from his mind as he slept? Or would we need to find a way to wake him?

My thoughts wandered to the eagle-eyed tieflings who had been playing cards at the tavern the night before, knowing that whichever one had been Swift had the means to wake the planetar. That he currently held the Trumpet of Pandemonium. Getting the trumpet off of the tiefling would prove hard, and so would fighting the sensei if we were forced to wake the Sleeping Man…

 _No._  It was easier for everyone if we could do all of this without waking him.

I closed the book I was reading with a sigh, getting up to place it on the pile of already combed books with a little bit too much force. The sensei's fierce yellow eyes snapped to me in warning at my mistreatment of the tomb. I offered her a grimace in apology, to which she simply shook her head. A deep breath and she returned to her meditative contemplation; eyes shut here she sat cross-legged on the cold floor, nought but a pillow for comfort.

Deekin was sifting through one of three bookshelves, organising the books that he thought held merit into a pile for Valen and me to search through with more effort. We were all searching for the answer to the fourth question.

_Who did the Sleeping Man seek?_

I  _knew_ it was in here somewhere, and that's all that kept me from giving up after more than an hour of searching.

I grabbed another book from the pile just as Deekin stood, dusting some invisible dust from his legs.

"That be all of them," Deekin turned to grab one of the books. He hefted the weighty tomb in his clawed hand with a frown. "Boss  _sure_ she don't know the answers?" He pressed sceptically.

I widened my eyes at him, lifting a hand up subtly in an 'are you serious?' look. My eyes darted quickly to Valen and back.

Valen chuckled but his eyes remained focused on a page he had open on his lap.

"Oooookay," Deekin hummed slowly with a small shake of his head.

He ignored my frown, dragging a pillow from the couch to sit on, as he started leafing through the pages with us. I leant my head back, rolling my shoulders and breathing through my frustration as I carried the book back to my spot on the couch.

We worked in silence as the minutes continued to tick by excruciatingly slowly, the words on the pages all blurring into one. Deekin would occasionally break the silence, sighing loudly and glancing at me pointedly over the top of his book.

I ignored him.

But then, an idea came to me.

I slammed my book shut with a  _thump_. "Found it!" I exclaimed proudly.

Valen groaned out something in a different language, something that sounded an awful look like a curse, before looking at me with a small smile.

" _Thank you_ ," he said to me, tossing the book he was reading onto the table and immediately pausing and glancing in the sensei's direction. When she didn't chastise him, he rolled his eyes back in my direction. "I was going barmy."

Deekin closed his book slowly, a smug look on his features as he said. "Deekin  _knew_ Boss would get it."

I smiled with another shake of my head before telling them the answer. "He seeks the Knower of Places, to ask her where his love would meet him," I told them.

Valen nodded along with my words, a thoughtful look on his face. "That must be why the Reaper said the Sleeping Man could help us. This Knower of Places much know where we can find his Name."

The sensei appeared suddenly by our side, looking between us all with a deep considering frown.

"You found the answer?" She asked slowly, blinking at us all in turn.

I nodded, pushing up from the couch and helping Deekin clean up the books we'd scattered throughout the room. Valen stepped in to help.

The sensei seemed distracted, blinking in the direction of a closed door and muttering; "But I thought I…" she faded out.

I paused, causing Valen's hands to brush my own as he bent to pick up another pile. My stomach clenched in surprise, warmth flooding to my cheeks as I passed them to him sheepishly.

I glanced at the confused githzerai, suddenly realising what it was that had her so put out.

The answer had never been in any of these books…

The real Sleeping Man's journal must have been locked away, to ensure nobody could actually complete her impossible task.

She snapped back to attention, pulling the hem of her shirt down with fluttering hands and straightening her posture. With a curt nod, she excused herself, hurrying to her closed door and unlocking it with a hidden key. She retreated within and closed the door with resounding finality.

I doubled down, and we managed to clean the remainder of the books in record time, before leaving without another word to the githzerai.

For the remainder of the day, we made our way through the city, seeking answers to the five-fold mysteries — despite the fact I already knew them.

Being in the painfully blistering cold longer than necessary set my teeth on edge, and Deekin would glance at me with a sceptical tilt to his head every time he caught my eye.

It took the better part of the day to get four of the five answers, even with my — admittedly faint — recollection of where to find them.

A slaadi worker told us the answer to where the Sleeping Man had come from, and a pilgrim we'd found scurrying through a bush — which she would  _not_ let us anywhere near — told us the answer to why he left his home. I'd asked after the berries she was currently plucking from within the thorny tangle, to which she'd explained they were Velox bushes, with a disbelieving scow. She'd explained with short curt words that they were the only way to light a fire in Cania's enchanted cold.

When she'd left, and I checked over her work, finding that there wasn't a single berry left. Swearing, I'd plucked a leaf from the bush, tucking it behind my ear to help me remember what they looked like.

With the knowledge that we would need them, we spent the remainder of our day searching for the bushes and attempting to find the fifth answer.

In our search, we'd pause whenever we came across a pilgrim's fire that wasn't already completely crowded. I would linger as long as we dared, body shivering as I huddled as close as I could, with Deekin pressed up against me. Whilst we wordlessly attempting to chase away the all-encompassing cold with chattering teeth, Valen would ask anyone that had the time if they knew the answer we sought.

All the while, I kept my eye out for the little creature I knew would lead us to the keeper of the fifth answer.

Occasionally — in the less travelled parts of the city — I'd spot hints of groundcover peeking out from the snow. Matching the leaves against my sample, Valen would dig the bush out with his gloved hands. Once it was clear of the snow, I'd carefully pry what berries remained from amongst the thorns with my smaller hands, and Deekin would place them carefully in my — now very clearly  _his_ — satchel.

It was on the outskirts of the city, looking for more of the berries, that we — completely by accident — stumbled upon what must have been the Scrivener.

It was a small dog-like creature with a flat snout and a hard brown carapace on its back. It reached roughly half-way up my calf with a stomach that dragged through the snow as it paced back and forth with little whimpers of frustrated distress.

I saw Valen reach out a hand in warning to me, as the little creature noticed us.

It lifted its head, snuffling the air, before running towards us as fast as it's squat legs would allow it to, with open eagerness.

Valen dropped his arm as soon as he realised it wasn't about to attack our ankles. I rolled my eyes openly at his jumpiness, smiling warmly at him before focusing on the little creature.

"What's the matter, little guy?" I ask, leaning down with my hands on my knees.

Valen sidled up to me cautiously, but I didn't miss the bemused smile on his lips at my tone.

The creature stopped whining as it approached, focusing all of its beady-eyed attention on me. Despite expecting it, my gasp was still very much real, as an image began to form over its head, illuminated by a dim light that seemed to filter from above.

"What…" Valen stumbled back a step.

I leant in to get a better look at the visage.

It was a woman sheathed in ice, perfectly still. A look of utter despair marked her cold, blue face, the merest breath escaping her frozen lips.

Aribeth.

"It's an elf-girl, Boss," Deekin hummed in amazement, looking to me for more information.

The creature resumed it's whining.

"What's happening to her?" Valen pressed.

The creature focused on Valen at his question, forming a new image.

In this one, Aribeth's frozen statue was slowly sinking into the ice below her, slowly being subsumed into the glacial mass. In the background, I saw the sky darken and lighten three times as she sunk out of sight. In time, there was nothing left but the creatures shallow keening.

"She might be the one some of the Lost Souls spoke of," Valen hummed thoughtfully. "The one that stood up to Mephistopheles."

I'd heard the conversation he referred to take place earlier in the day, but I'd had neither the energy or the ability to talk through the shivering at the time, and had left the task of uncovering more information to the tiefling.

The creature darted away a few steps, and as we stepped forward to follow, I realised something that I hadn't before. What had looked like the city's limits — a tall wall of ice — was actually the wall of a cliff's edge. I raised a hand against the harsh glare of light on white, and then I saw it; the jagged maw of a cave opening.

A magical blue glow barred the entrance. "She's in there," I jutted my chin towards the cave. "Will that barricade disappear if we help you?" I asked the creature.

The creature cackled in acknowledgement, before wandering past me with plodding steps towards the city.

"Boss be hero," Deekin explained to the creature, urging it to continue.

I rolled my eyes at Valen at Deekin's words, earning myself a smile, before saying to the creature; "How can we help?"

And so we followed the creature on a wild goose chase; a game of charades that had Deekin laughing with glee and Valen frowning in concentration, as we lead it across the city to a pillar.

Valen was quick to identify the creature as the Scrivener he'd heard discussed around one the pilgrim's fires after we saw the wall of scribed names beside the pillar. It had searched the expanse of the wall for a while before shaking its little head.

We did much of the same until  _finally_ , we arrived at the right one — the creatures huff of excitement impossible to misinterpret.

Beside the pillar, like all the others, was a long icy wall etched with countless names.

Despite it looking like there could not possibly be any room for another name, the creature found a spot. It lifted its pawed feet, glancing at us with imploring eyes. Valen did the honours of holding him up to write, as the little creature etched something in the blue ice with a clawed paw.

Content with its handiwork, it wiggled free of Valen's hold, revealing the elf's name.

_Aribeth de Tylmarande._

The creature cackled in glee, before appearing all of a sudden weary now that its task was done.

"That be frozen lady?" Deekin pressed with a tilt of his head, as he scribbled her name into my notebook. "Why does name ring bell, Boss?" He asked me as he wrote.

"Tell you over dinner, Deeks," I managed to say, hands tucked up under my chin as I blew onto them.

It was impossible to know the time, but the clear white sky had been slowly gaining a darker grey hue over the last hour, the temperature dropping impossibly lower.

I pulled my scarf back across my face, tucking my covered chin into my chest and motioning we continue. I led us back to the Hellsbreath Tavern, grimacing at a couple of crowded pilgrim's fires that we passed — no room to spare for an outsider, now that night was approaching.

My pace slowed, despite the knowledge that warmth was so very close. I was dimly aware of Valen's warm hand on my lower back as he took over directing us, of Deekin tucked within the confines of the large tiefling's cloak. With each ragged breath, more of my valuable heat escaped in puffs of white vapour, and with each blink of my ice-crusted eyes, I took that little bit longer to focus on the white path ahead of me.

When we finally arrived I didn't even have the energy to exclaim my relief.

With fingers clumsy from numbness I reached for the door handle in a daze, palming in frustration at the door and the promise of warmth beyond, with a chattering curse.

Valen took over, pushing the door open and ushering inside.

Deekin and I practically tumbled into the warm embrace of the tavern.

But the warmth did little to ease the chill in my soul; my thoughts reeling with the realisation that there was no way the kobold and I were going to be able to survive out in the wastes of Cania.

Deekin and I could barely last an hour without a berry-fueled fire to stave off the bone-chilling cold.

With shaky footing, I descended down the stairs, doing my best to ignore the concerned expression on Valen's features, which told me he was worried about the very same thing.

Unless hell froze over — or rather,  _unfroze_ — and became a tropical getaway, we were completely, and unbelievably fucked.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following shopping list is in Jane's messy handwriting. It's shakier than usual, small and cramped._

**Emma**

Velox-berry Firewaters, 6

Thicker gloves, boots and cloak

Healing potions, 10?

Something with cold resistance

Throwing knives, 4

Dagger - to replace the one Deekin took

Arrows, fire enchantments, 20

**Deekin**

Thicker gloves, boots and cloak

Something else with cold resistance

Pack

Crossbow

Bolts, fire enchantments, 10

Bolts, 50

An instrument of some kind

**Valen**

A stress ball?


	26. Chapter 26

Upon returning to the blissful warmth of the Hellsbreath Tavern, we silently lined up for food. Our main company was compromised of the more well-off pilgrims, capable of affording lodging — unlike their astral-travellers, come-gypsy comrades, who were slowly freezing outside. The occasional erinyes would glance our way, but for the most part the tavern's devils — a similar mix of breeds to the night before — kept their distance.

We ate at the end of a long communal table, in the room attached to the barroom; Valen balancing on the edge of the bench and pressed up on my left, Deekin across from us with his feet swinging in contentment, and a group of sullen githzerai on my right. We shovelled down a brown slop of vegetarian soup, sliced root plants floating on the surface and lending to dinner's overall dirty flavour. I washed it down with a tankard of ale that — apparently, no matter the plane — did not seem to differ too much in taste and purpose from any other beer in Toril.

Deekin had joined me in my toast to a warm dinner and warmer room — no matter how disgustingly brown or devil-filled and hellish — with a clink of our glasses. Valen, despite my insistence that a drink would do him good, had refused my offer; insisting it was neither the time nor the place.

Taking another sip of the cheap beer, and feeling the flush of alcohol on my cheeks, I begged to differ; Hell certainly seemed the place for a pint or three.

As promised, I told them all I knew of Aribeth, Deekin's eyes widening in recognition as I spoke. I'd explained how she had once been a Paladin or Tyr, before her city had sentenced her lover to death. Feeling betrayed, she'd let herself fall, her revenge leading her to becoming a Blackguard, before the Hero of Neverwinter had ultimately been forced to kill her. Deekin had asked none-too-subtly if I thought she could be redeemed.

"I think she can," I said with a nod. This, the previously quiet tiefling had seemed suddenly interested in, eyes on me as I answered. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

I took another gulp of beer, slowly defrosting fingers protesting at the movement.

Valen barely offered a word as we ate, glancing around us between each hurried mouthful of soup and the next and polishing it off well before Deekin and I. Pushing his bowl away, he washed it all down with dirty grey water that I hadn't dared touch.

_Surely on a plane covered in ice and snow, clean water wasn't a commodity._

I rubbed my defrosting hands together uncomfortably, the material of my gloves — enchanted though they were, were not designed with waterproofing in mind — unbelievably soggy and cold. I balled my hands a few times, stretching my painful joints.

"Here," Valen said, noticing my discomfort. "Let me take them back to the room to dry."

I gave a flat smile. "Thanks, Valen, but I'm fine."

He frowned, reaching out and grabbing at the back of one of my hands and squeezing; once, twice. I felt a flutter in my stomach, pulling them away slowly.

"They're soaked," he admonished, shaking his head and reaching for them again.

I pulled them to my chest with a firm shake of my head.

"I said I'm fine, Valen." I snapped, instantly regretting my harsh ton at the widening of his eyes. They softened almost immediately with concern.

A smaller pair of gloves landed onto the table between us with a wet slap.

"Goat-man can take Deekin's gloves to warm," the little kobold requested around a spoonful of soup.

Valen glanced their way with an absent nod, before looking back up at me with a stubborn set to his jaw.

"Emma, show me your—" he started.

"Fine!" I interrupted him.

I peeled my gloves away slowly, my hiss of pain quickly turning to one of surprise at the colour of my skin. I'd expected them to be pale, maybe blue — but bruised a deep  _purple_?

I blinked down at them.

"You stubborn woman," Valen gruffly chastised me.

Deekin peeked at my hands in interest, stating; "Boss' fingers look like worm he ate one time."

Valen wrapped one of his hands around my much cooler ones, almost completely numb but for the dull ache I'd been doing my best to ignore. With his free hand, he lent down beside him. I attempted again to pull away, but he held me firm. I didn't have the energy to argue, already caught out.

"I didn't peg you for a martyr," Valen stated with another shake of his head as he sifted through his pack.

 _I hadn't intended to be one!_  Shame mingled with my annoyance.

I'd only intended to ignore the pain until after a drink — to avoid acknowledging for a little bit longer that, beneath the gloves, my hands were probably worse than they felt. I fully intended to whip together a salve; I had everything I needed for one…

Still holding my hands within his own, Valen pulled out a healing potion, placing it on the table between us with more force than necessary.

I shook my head, quickly identifying the unnecessarily powerful healing potions. "I've got everything I need for a salve," I insisted. "Was going to make it straight after." I motioned at my mostly empty bowl and half-finished drink.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Valen relented, pulling away and removing the potion from between us with a grunt.

I should have realised he had given up too easily.

He pulled the cork loose and upended the entire contents into my glass, eyebrow raised at my open-mouthed disbelief. The blue liquid mixed with the remaining beer, bubbling as it mixed into a pale combination of the two.

He shook the remaining drops of the liquid out, before slamming the empty flask onto the table once more.

Deekin chuckled as he took another sip of his uncontaminated beer.

"Well, don't let it go to waste," Valen motioned at my drink. "We can't re-bottle that." He raised his eyebrow in challenge.

"Godsdamnit," I hissed, reaching for my drink with a distasteful grimace. "Stubborn asshat of a tiefling."

He shrugged, before standing and stepping away from the table, our packs in his hand.

I gave him a sarcastic toast and a lackluster glare, before forcing down the disgusting combination of flavours as quickly as I could.

"Make sure she has another if she needs it," Valen told Deekin, the little bard nodding along.

I rolled my eyes. "And where are you going?" I asked.

Valen slapped one of our two new keys down on the table, the other in his hand. "Bed," he stated. I thought again of our room from the night before, and wondered if this new one had an extra bed, as requested. "You should do the same." He looked between Deekin and I.

I gritted my teeth, slamming my now empty glass down and noting that my fingers were already returning to their normal colour. "I need another drink to wash that down," I insisted, shaking out my hands as feeling started returning to them, the tingling sensation almost itchy.

Valen shook his head when I motioned at one of the imps that was hanging from a rafter, motioning between mine and Deekin's glasses with a raised brow. The little shit stared right at me, not moving a muscle. The tiefling glanced uneasily in the devil's direction, arms crossed across his broad armoured chest. Deekin reached into my satchel on the bench beside him, fishing out a coin and flicking it into the air. The imp immediately jumped to action, causing Valen to flinch, as it dove for the coin with grasping fingers and spread leathery wings. Without any effort, it caught at the falling coin, before gliding out of the room. Deekin was grinning broadly at the display, obviously in his element.

Shaking his head again, Valen hefted our packs onto one of his shoulders with a look that clearly said 'have it your way'.

As he turned to walk away, I reached out to him, falling just shy of his arm. "We won't be long," I said gently, warmth spreading through my stomach at the smile I received in return.

"Be careful," he said, equally gentle, before nodding to the kobold and retreating to our new room, evidently unablea to spend a moment longer in the company of devils.

I hissed out a grimace as the imp returned with a beat of its wings, two cups in hand, the contents of one spilling over and dropping on the tiefling's shoulder as it passed overhead. I saw him wipe it clean in distaste, shoulders tense as he disappeared from sight.

The imp unceremoniously dropped our drinks in front of us, the wind from its beating wings causing my hair to tickle my nose as he lifted back into the rafters overhead.

"So you got a penchant for tiefs, ey, fireskirt?"

A dark drink appeared on the table beside me, just as the owner of the gruff voice plonked down on the bench beside me, straddling it sideways to face me and thrusting out a hand in greeting.

I took in the point-filed fingers, following the sinewy length of arm up to the face of the owner.

The tiefling from the night before.

_Arden Swift?_

I honestly wouldn't be surprised, things had a way of working out…

I crossed my arms, eyeing his outstretched hand with a raised eyebrow and shifting away to put a bit of extra space between us, the heat from his body radiating off of him in waves.

"My tags Swift," he introduced himself without pause.

Deekin crossed his arms on the table, eyeing the tiefling suspiciously. "Little kobold be Deekin," he said carefully, before looking to me. "That be Emma," at my introduction he gave me a conspiratorial wink.

The man, at least fifteen years my senior in looks alone — more, if you considered tieflings longer natural life spans — offered me a casual lopsided grin, pulling his hand back and not seeming the least bit offended as he wiped it on his chest.

"Emma," he greeted me with a deep nod, all mock-formality.

Atop his mop of shoulder-length salt and pepper hair protruded two black horns, one slightly chipped, and a recent cut interrupted his hair, showing angry red scalp — the wound was healing, but it was evidently a recent close scrape. His horns twisted forward, shadowing the smiling man's forehead, where Valen's own horns twisted away. I smiled, thinking the red-headed tieflings were the nicer of the two. The most pointed difference of all, however, was the two black leathery wings that sat folded upon his back, in place of Valen's spaded tail.

_I wonder if he can fly with them…_

"That looks recent," I motioned towards the injury. "Interrupted someone else's dinner, uninvited?"

Deekin — who had been watching the exchange carefully with darting yellow eyes — resumed eating his dinner at my snide remark, seemingly content that I was comfortable enough to make a snarky comment. The tiefling raised a hand to his head, understanding dawning in his eyes. His smile widened at my remark.

He slapped his raised hand down to the tabletop, causing me to jump slightly at the force of it. He shook his head, taking another deep sip of his drink.

"I like you, cutter," he chuckled.

Confident that he didn't mean us harm, I reached for my own drink, taking a couple of deep swallows. "So," I continued. "What's the story?"

He pulled his lips down at my insistence, before shrugging. "I had me a little tussle with the sensei." He lifted a leg, brushing against me as he swivelled to face the table fully. "But I've washed my hands of that."

I looked down at them pointedly, shuffling along the bench to put more space between us. I pulled my lips up in distaste, but smiled to show I was joking. "I wish you'd wash them more often."

I was awarded another chuckle and a lifted brow. "Why, what did you have in mind for them?"

_Eww._

Deekin groaned at the comment, causing me to smirk around my glass as I took another drink.

"It seems we have a  _friend_ in common, in the sensei," I continued, pointedly ignoring his comment. "What happened?"

He lent an elbow on the table, resting his chin on a fist and turning to me. "Buy me some bub, and I'll tell ya," he motioned to his empty glass, voice low as he finished off his drink.

I rolled my eyes, but Deekin had already excitedly pawed through my satchel, flicking another coin into the greedy hands of the overhead imp. He pointed at mine and the tiefling's glasses with a toothy grin.

Grinning, the tiefling rolled his shoulders back, wings fluttering slightly at the movement. "It was just a harmless joke, was all," he explained, jutting his stubble shadowed chin towards the quiet githzerai further down the table. "These pouting pilgrims keep prattling on about 'the Sleeping Man this' and 'the Sleeping Man that.' The thought of waking the codger started tickling my funny bone." He shrugged. "Needless to say, when the sensei caught wind, she got all foamed up at the idea."

I smirked at the turn of phrase, wondering if these were colloquial sayings from someone born in Sigil or specific just to Swift. Because I honestly couldn't picture the usually proper Valen talking in such a way. I'd have to get a few drinks into him one day and see…

"How bat-man plan on waking the Sleeping Man?" Deekin leant forward in interest.

I snorted into my drink at Deekin's new nickname for the bat-winged Swift, trying — and failing — not to picture the old tiefling clad in the original batman costume; nipples, accessory belt and all.

He raised an eyebrow at the kobold, turning back to face me with a look of confused wonderment on his features. I shrugged my shoulders with a flat-smiled apology, motioning for him to answer the question.

Narrowing his eyes at the kobold, he continued cautiously. "An old bard gathers a few trinkets along the way," he explained, eyes finding my own again. He took another drink, building tension. Deekin, ever the receptive audience, leant forward further across the table. "There's an old instrument-maker in the Cage," he paused at my vacant expression, rolling his eyes. " _Sigil_ ," he explained in exasperation. " _Honestly_ , has your soldier-boy tanar-ri taught you nothing, clueless berk?" His smile turned wicked as he raised an eyebrow. "Or you not much of a talker?"

I crossed my arms, fishing for a response before Deekin interjected helpfully. "Boss talks all the time," he explained with a nod. "Even when Deekin wish she wouldn't."

I smiled fondly at the kobold, before uncrossing my arms and finishing off my drink.

"So, this instrument-maker," I pressed with a raised eyebrow.

He smirked, waving a hand at me. "You're not fun." He sighed. "His trumpets are fashioned with a small portal to the Plane of Pandemonium…"

Deekin immediately perked up, reaching across the table to paw at my wrist in excitement.

"Ooh, Boss," he exclaimed, pulling away to make room as the imp added two more drinks to our growing collection. I reached for mine, fully intending to nurse this one. "Think of what Deekin could do with that! That sound  _perfect_ for kobold music."

I grimaced at the thought.

The tiefling, noting our interest, took a languish sip of his new drink, before continuing with the embellishments of one who liked to spin a tale.

"Put your lips to it and blow," he said, voice dropping as his black eyes darted to my mouth. He licked a drop of liquor slowly from his own lips, and I did all I could to not look repulsed. "And all the howling winds of that mad place blow with you." He smirked, voice lifting jovially. "I was  _planning_ on leaning up close and putting it right to the berk's ear… Nothing can sleep through such a cacophony, not even the Sleeping Man."

I let a smile curve my lips as I leant forward, matching his pose. "This trumpet," I started, my voice a low purr. "Any way I could borrow it?"

He leant closer, the smell of alcohol clear on his breath.

"Nothing is free," he hummed thoughtfully. "But it doesn't look like I'll be using it, not with the sensei torqued and watching for me. For the price of a little entertainment," his eyes dropped to my mouth again. "I'd be willing to let you keep the blasted thing. Interested?"

I glanced at Deekin, jutting my chin at the tiefling's rapidly emptying drink before giving Swift my full attention once more. "I'm not going anywhere with you," I told him with a playful whisper, eyes on his curved lips.

Swift laughed at my comment, throwing his head back and finally giving me some space to gather my nerve. From the corner of my eye, I saw Deekin flicking another hard-earned coin in the air with a smile.

"Okay, cony," he hummed, reaching into his pocket and drawing a deck of cards. He began shuffling them, eyes never leaving my own. "I'm going to teach you a card trick. I win, you show me just what you've done to get a tanar'ri to follow you to Cania," he didn't pause in his shuffling of the cards, and my eyes dropped to watch his movements carefully. "You win," he said, in a way that showed he didn't think I would do anything of the sort. "You win, and you can keep the blasted thing." His shuffling stopped, and he curved an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. "Interested?"

I reached for the deck, and he stilled, passing it to me without complaint. I started shuffling carefully, his eyes following my deft movements carefully. No way I could sleeve one with him looking at me. He shifted in his seat again, turning so that the bench was once more straddled between his legs. He placed a hand on each of his legs, watching me closely.

The imp swopped across the table, placing another drink with a thump beside the tiefling. He didn't even flinch, his eyes focused on my hands as I shuffled the deck.

I chewed my lip nervously.

"Rules?" I hummed, eyebrow raised.

Eyes never leaving my hands, he said. "You can ask me five 'yes' or 'no' questions about the card I draw. Then you have to guess what it is." I nodded, thankful I had remembered the game correctly. If my memory was correct; sometimes he would lie, sometimes he would tell the truth — all with seemingly no pattern.

"Kings are high," I let my voice drop, glancing briefly down at his lap. "Aces are low." The purr to my voice caused his eyes to snap up to my own, and I held it with a secretive smile. I took the opportunity to sleeve the seven of hearts I'd been holding in place, tense all over at the potential of being discovered.

I relaxed when he didn't seem to notice.

Unable to keep his attention for long, he looked back down at my hands. I slowed in my shuffling, wracking my brain for something to say that would hold his attention for a little bit longer.

Biting my lip with a smile that I hoped was convincing, I lifted the deck onto the table between us, lifting a leg up to straddle the bench and face him fully. I shifted closer as I cut the deck with my left hand and reached for his arm with the other. I placed the halves on top of each other and then lent towards his ear, shielding his view of the deck  _just_ enough that I hoped he wouldn't be suspicious.

"Honestly," I purred. "I've been getting bored of his tail," I jutted my head over his shoulder. "So this is a win win for me."

I tried to ignore the grimace on Deekin's scrunched up face, his hand on his forehead. Swift laughed, his whole body shaking, but I had his attention, his hand snaking out under the table and grabbing my thigh, point-tipped nails digging in. I did my best not to flinch.

As I pulled my hand away from the deck, I flicked the card from my sleeve onto the top. My smile was very much real when I pulled back.

His eyes were narrowed — in suspicion or contemplation, I couldn't be sure — but I raised my eyebrow in challenge anyway, motioning to the deck with an embellishment.

He raised his eyebrow right back at me, smile on his lips. "You've got a high opinion of yourself, skirt, if you think you're enough of an ante." He chuckled.

I frowned, reaching for my drink and taking a small sip. Remembering his own, he took a couple of mouthfuls.

"Getting scared?" I pressed. "Sounded like you thought this was a sure thing." Again I motioned to the deck. "Go on, pick your card."

Deekin was leaning forward on his elbows, eyeing the deck intently with wide eyes.

 _Thankfully_ , he picked from the top, too obnoxious, too drunk, too  _excited_ , to consider that  _I_ was the one swindling  _him_. He glanced down at it briefly, and I watched him like a hawk, conscious that he had palmed a few when he'd been shuffling. Watching me over the card, he smiled, placing it on the bench between us. He rested his hand on top. Trying not to sigh in frustration, I reached out to place my hand atop his, conscious that he might try switching it as we went.

"Is it a black card?" I asked, knowing full well that it was not.

He smiled, "Yes."

I searched his face for any sign of a tell. His eyebrows lifted in challenge as I considered him, but otherwise there was no way to tell.

I hummed in consideration, tapping a finger from my free hand on my lip as I considered my next question.

"Higher than a five?" I pressed.

"Yes," his drawled with a roll of his eyes.

He lowered his eyebrows and sighed, seemingly bored with my questions. This time he was telling the truth.

I held his gaze as I contemplated my next question, and was just as surprised as he was when a hand grabbed him around his horn and pulled his head back. His eyes widened for an instant, before he was slammed face first into the table top.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The next bit is in Jane's messy handwriting, a short description of the difference between devils and demons._

**Devils**

Alignment: Lawful evil

Home: The nine levels of hell

Characteristics: Always willing to make deals with mortals, whilst they're usually bound by their own twisted code of ethics, be cautious of their web of lies and deceit.

**Demons**

Alignment: Chaotic evil

Home: The infinite abyss

Characteristics: Where devils are willing to lie and barter, demons will let brute force and violence do the talking.

The Blood Wars Origin:

The gods created Asmodeus to fight the demons on their behalf, a conflict known as the Blood War. Eventually, Asmodeus and his followers — powerful beings created exclusively for the purpose of violence and battle — became more and more like the monsters they fought and more and more discontent with his position defending the kingdoms of heaven, with no real reward.

So, he scammed the gods into signing the Pact Primeval, granting him the right to extract divine energy from the souls of lawfully evil mortals, moving to Baator, devils taking over the nine levels of hell.

Devils still hate demons above all, as its what they were created to destroy, and because chaos is as much a negation of everything they represent — as good is.

As to what Asmodeus' ultimate goal is, who the hell knows.


	27. Chapter 27

Arden Swift was attempting to stand, face a bloody pulp of a mess, nose bent and broken and covered in blood. His eyes locked with mine, wild and wide, mouth gaping in surprise as he tried to say something.

He had barely pushed himself up from the bench when he was yanked back forcefully by the hand still grasped firmly around his horn. His wings fluttered uselessly at his back as he struggled to pull away, one arm flailing as the other grasped his battered face in horror.

Between one moment and the next, he was slammed back into the table, body going limp at the force of it. Some of the nearby githzerai were shouting in alarm, some gasping, and others silent with shock. But they all backed away from the confrontation. Deekin pushed up to stand to his full height on the bench, moving out of range of my spilt beer with wide eyes. His hand had settled on his waist, near where he kept my knife, but he had yet to draw it.

I jumped away from the tiefling, glancing in surprise at Valen's snarling features as he smashed the older man's face into the timber benchtop; three times, four times, five.

Swift, no longer offering up any resistance, collapsed lifelessly onto the table when Valen finally let go with a disgusted huff, shoulders heaving as his eyes snapped between Deekin and me.

"Valen?" I shouted in surprise, jumping away from the table. "What the hell?"

He'd obviously made an attempt at sleep, red hair tousled and wearing only breeches and a clean tunic. But his belt was on, his flail and knives all in their place.

The deck was still obscenely intact, the single card pinned beneath Swift's splayed hand, paper splattered dark with blood."I thought—" he glanced between the other tiefling and me. "When you didn't come to the room…" His eyes snapped to the deck and then back to my own, swirling between blue and red and settling on somewhere in between. "You were playing  _cards?_  With  _him_?"

The deck was still obscenely intact, the single card pinned beneath Swift's splayed hand, paper splattered dark with blood.

My teeth were gritted from the effort of remaining silent, hands balled into fists at the accusation in Valen's eyes.

"It wasn't a social call," I snapped. "I was getting us out of here,"

"Bat-man had trumpet to wake Sleeping Man," Deekin explained helpfully.

With a shaking hand, I reached out and placed a couple of fingers to Swift's neck, checking for a pulse.

Nothing.

I shifted, trying again. And then, _there_! It was faint, but there.

Now that I knew he was alive, I realised that I had hoped to find him dead. Now, I was faced with the challenge of what to do with the unconscious tiefling. There was no way he wasn't going to be out for revenge after this…

But Valen knew what to do.

Before I could stop him —  _would I have stopped him?_ — he'd pulled the other tiefling's head back with a grim set to his face, eyes flashing red for the barest of moments as he sliced the older man's neck open with one clean stroke of his knife. I jumped back, away from the spray of blood.

"Valen!" I hissed.

With a shake of his head, he let the dead weight drop back onto the table with a thud, staining the timber red.

Tense and ready, I placed a hand on my knife, glancing at the other patrons for sign of attack.

None of them moved to intervene.

Most of the pilgrims had hurried to leave the room at the first sign of the fight. The imp — now with two of his friends — was cackling above us in the rafters, wings fluttering as it hissed something down at Valen in delight.

Valen turned on me, face set in anger and shoulders heaving with each laboured breath.

I glanced back at the table, and at the single card.

"Seven of hearts," I stated flatly.

I could see the confusion shift to understanding in his eyes as I reached forward; pulling the card carefully from below the dead tiefling's hand.

Deekin bent over the table to try and get a look at it.

_Huh._

I smirked grimly, flicking it back onto the table; number side up.

The seven of hearts fell to the table between us, blood trickling slowly to cover it.

Eyes back on the tiefling, I snapped pointedly; "I had him where I wanted him."

He stepped away with a sneer, crossing his arms defensively. "I could tell," he hummed, his face a look of open disgust.

Immediately, my cheeks flamed red with embarrassment at the insinuation. The baseless accusation only serving tof my anger.

To hide it my red cheeks, I knelt beside the dead tiefling with a huff, patting his pockets down. I searched his pants, opened his coat. I searched him a second time.

Nothing. No trumpet.

"Shit!" I hissed.

I pulled away with nought but Swift's room key and a couple of coins.

"Right where you wanted him, huh?" Valen snapped with a raised eyebrow, neck splotchy and red with anger.

"He was supposed to have it on him," I gnashed my teeth.

 _I was sure he had it on him!_ I wracked my memory, sure I was right.

Shaking my head roughly, I pushed to my feet. My chest was tight with frustration, and my hands were clenched around his key in anger.

Thoughts a scrambled mess, I pushed past Valen, Deekin hurrying to follow by my side.

"And just what do you think would have happened when you went back to his room for the trumpet?" Valen asked suddenly, reaching out to grab my arm and forcing me to face him.

My stomach clenched at the truth of his words, but I pushed the feeling aside.  _I was an adult, dammit!_

"Then I would have handled that, too," I snarled, snatching my arm out of his grasp.

I spun, continuing towards the hallway.

I glanced down at the key, comparing it to the doors as we rushed past them. Deekin managed a glance at it and rushed past me — practically at a run — peering at each of the doors as he passed them.

"He wasn't just some man, that you could put back in his place," Valen hissed from immediately behind me, voice strained. "He was a devil, dammit!"

"And you're a demon," I retorted sharply. "And I've got half a mind to put you in  _yours_. What's your point?"

I was too damn angry to be embarrassed at the petty comparison.

I could feel his seething presence taking up the hallway behind us.

 _We could have done this without bloodshed_ —  _I could have handled this!_

"My point is—" Valen paused, sighing. He took a deep wavering breath. " _My point is_ that you could have been hurt," he said, voice choked with emotion.

"There Boss," Deekin piped up.

I didn't say anything more as I made my way to the door the bard had pointed out, matching up the symbols before unlocking it with a grimace.

Inside, it was exactly the same — exactly as bare — as our own had been, the only point of difference being the pack of Swift's belongings open by the bed.

I hurried to the pack, pulling it open with searching hands. It didn't take long for me to find the small metal trumpet amongst his trinkets and clothes.

I held it up for Deekin, before stuffing it back in place, tying the straps and lifting it onto my shoulders with a groan.

"Deekin goes talk to Tavernkeep about mess," he peeked past the glowering tiefling. "We gots understanding," he explained vaguely.

Before I could even open my mouth to object, he was gone.

The dragon would probably eat the dead tiefling's body whole and call it a day… I pushed aside the thought of the tavern keeper's toothy grin and the smell of rot that had carried on his breath.

I could feel Valen watching me silently from the doorway.

I refused to turn to him.

"Fine," I muttered to myself, lifting pillows and checking under the bed to ensure I hadn't missed anything. "Someone around here has to trust that we're all capable adults, I guess."

Valen gritted out an exasperated sigh. "That's not—"

I pushed past him, cutting his explanation off and attempting to slam the door on the tiefling, behind me.

My mind hissed at me that  _that_  had been a pretty childish move for someone indignant about not being treated like an adult, but I pushed that voice down resolutely.

Valen hurried to hold the closing door open, following me out into the hall as I picked a direction and went with it, marching — hopefully — towards our new room.

I glanced down at my room key, frown deepening at Valen's frustratingly helpful; "Three up on the right."

I took a deep angry breath. "If I want your help, I'll ask for it."

 _Strike two for childish comments,_ Enserric piped up in exasperation.

I kicked open our door once it was unlocked, stomping into the room and throwing the tiefling's stolen pack on the ground. The room was sweltering, and I was all of a sudden so very god's-damned hot, face burning and blood boiling.

Valen slammed the door shut behind him, a look of incredulous exasperation on his face, fueling my anger.

_How could he not see how insulting his actions had been?_

I unfastened my cloak with shaking hands, throwing it to the floor as I paced. This was followed by Enserric and my bow and quiver — my sword's indignant shout at his mistreatment nothing compared to the thumping of blood in my ears.

But still, Valen didn't say anything.

He just stood there like a godsdamned idiot looking all the world like  _I_ was the one that had insulted  _him_.

I turned back to the tiefling, face set in a deep angry frown as I approached him.

I jutted a finger at his chest, causing him to back up a step.

"First that stint with the healing potion. And then," I floundered, waving my arms before jabbing a finger in the approximate direction of the dead tiefling. "And then  _that_!"

I pulled my hand back, crossing my arms across my chest and lifting my chin. I narrowed my eyes, blinking roughly at the threat of tears.

He was pale, paler than usual in contrast to the red burn of anger on his neck. He opened his mouth to say something before his frown deepened and he closed it again.

I raised my eyebrow at his silence.

His eyes swirled a purplish-grey, and the muscles in his jaw popped as he ground it, but he kept his anger in check. I should have been thankful for that. I don't think could have stared him down, if his eyes had been flashing red with the full brunt of his rage.

I lifted a palm and pressed it roughly to my eyes, rubbing away a couple of stray tears with a frown.

"You pull shit like that and it makes me think you still don't trust me," I stated finally, shoulders collapsing in defeat. "It makes me feel —"

And then his hands were on my shoulders.

He yanked me roughly to him, slamming his lips against mine.

His lips muffled the sound of my gasp, knocking the breath from my lungs as I blinked in a surprised daze.

His kiss was not gentle, but hot; fiery, passionate and demanding.

He kissed me and the whole world fell away, eyes fluttering closed as I returned the pressure.

My mind went blank, his kiss obliterating every thought, and — for the first time in forever — my mind was firmly locked in the present.

I felt my tense body melting as he held me tighter and tighter and tighter again.

A hand, feverishly hot against my suddenly chill skin, snaked up to rest below my ear, rough thumb caressing my cheek as our breaths mingled. I ran my hands down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us.

I could feel the urgent beating of his heart against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

His tongue pressed against the seam of my lips and I readily granted him control.

I reached up, stretching on my toes and tangling my arms across his thick, strong neck. I pulled away for air, arching into his broad body and sighing at his unnatural burning  _heat_ against me. Valen chased my lips with his teeth, pulling me back to him with a low rumble of a growl. I could faintly taste the tang of my beer with every demanding push of his tongue against mine. I found my lips smiling against his mouth.

Unexpectedly — for his hands seemed to be everywhere — his rough fingers curled around my hip, settling there and pulling me closer with a rough yank. I could feel all of him, every wonderful inch of his body against mine, and I inhaled sharply at the pressure of his nails digging into my skin for purchase.

I pulled a hand free, knocking him back against the door and forcing the breath from his upturned lips.

He didn't give me any quarter, pulling me into him again — my splayed hand crushed between our chests. I intended to push him away again, but instead it lingered there as I melted under his attention.

His breathing quickened, mine matching it, as he started trailing hungry kisses across my face. He made his way to my throat, nuzzling into the nook of my neck. The warmth radiated from him, spreading through my body.

The stark coldness of outside was an impossible thing of the past.

He buried his face deeper into my neck, and I stretched, pulling him closer.

I felt the scrape of his teeth and then he was pulling at the skin on my throat, causing me to hiss with pain, eyes snapping open in surprise.

I pushed my hand against his chest, but it was crushed in place between us, and he didn't seem to notice.

About to pull away, he beat me to it.

I gasped as his warmth retreated with a final scrape of his teeth.

My heart fluttered, legs trembling and almost giving out as he pushed me back, leaving no room for argument as he directed us away from the door. My lips parted to object, but then he was everywhere again, lips crushed hungrily against my own.

I briefly wondered if the door was locked, but the thought was as quick and fleeting as my objection.

As we stumbled back, I felt something curl around my leg and almost jumped at the tingling caress of his tail on my upper thigh. I felt his lips pull up, chest vibrating in a deep chuckle.

Drunk on endorphins, my only desire was to touch him, my hands under his shirt and roving across his hard chest and feeling each perfect inch of him. I savoured his lips, gasping against his mouth — shaking at the sheer  _promise_ of the kiss — as the back of my knees hit the bed  _hard_.

He fell onto me, elbows propped on both sides of my head as we landed and our teeth clashing in our desperation. He used the strength of his tail to pull my legs onto the bed after him, legs pinning me in place.

A tremble of delight shook my body; euphoric warmth blossoming in me once more. I was breathless as he showered me with more hungry kisses, each igniting their own flicker of warmth deep within me.

And then, between one deep kiss and the next, I felt him pull back slowly.

I gazed up at him, beyond words.

He spent a moment studying my face, his eyes still a swirl of colours, but with none of the anger and frustration — and what I now suspected was fear — from earlier.

I felt my blush deepen under his scrutiny.

Valen gazed down at me, hair a red halo around his handsome face. His lust-glazed eyes softened into tenderness, before sparking with something more befitting of action.

He tilted my head up and kissed me, his lips demanding but gentle — where before they had been unrelenting. I felt the smouldering heat from before, deep inside me, as Valen's grip tightened, crushing my body to his; gentle yet firm. He slanted my head further, deepening the kiss, as one of his hands roamed down my neck.

He grasped my ribs before moving to cup one of my breasts, thumbing the suddenly too-thick fabric of my leathers and holding me firmly in place.

I shivered in delight…

"Emma," he breathed — so quietly I almost missed it — voice full of wonder.

It was like a bucket of water had been thrown on me.

I tensed, eyes snapping open and jaw clenching. His body was suddenly too heavy, the heat of his body overwhelming. He nuzzled against me searchingly, unsure about the sudden change.

"Wait," I whispered. Clearing my throat, I said it again, my voice louder but no more sure.

He paused, pulling back with a frown. He considered me, eyes swirling in confusion as they roamed over every inch of my face for an answer.

An answer I couldn't give him.

"Valen," I managed through a whispered choke, and — even to my ears — the word felt like a hollow apology.

Hurt flashed across his face momentarily, before he carefully schooled his features in place. He removed his hands slowly, leaning on his elbows and shifting away. His breath was still warm and heavy on my face, cheeks flushed and eyes trapped somewhere between not-blue, but not-red. I shivered as I felt his tail uncoil slowly from around my thigh, skin suddenly cold and pin-pricked with goosebumps.

Suddenly feeling stifled and hot — where before I had felt content and warm — I shimmied up the bed, forcing him to lift further off of me as I propped myself against the headboard. His warm breath disappearing from my cheeks as he backed away slightly, eyes demanding as they searched my own.

I gathered my thoughts, watching as Valen tried to make sense of my sudden cool detachment; my lips still swollen and my chest still heaving with every gasping breath.

My insides twisted painfully.

"Valen," I tried again.

I looked down, kneading my hands together.

His frown deepened as his eyes dropped to my nervously moving hands. He covered them carefully in his own, squeezing them in assurance.

"We can wait," he said, voice low, expression unsure.

I shook my head, feeling that gods-awful sting in my eyes once more.

I lifted a hand gently, smile wavering as I cupped his cheek. He pushed into my touch, letting his eyes drift closed.

"This place..." I took a deep, shaky breath. "You're not yourself."

 _I'm_   _not who you think I am._

This obviously hadn't been what he'd been expecting, as he stilled, eyes snapping open as he considered me carefully.

Suddenly, a smirk pulled at his lips, and he huffed out a breath through his nose. Smirk growing into a gentle smile, he reached up to grasp my hand. He pulled it down to his beating chest.

"I feel more like myself than I have in a long time," he assured me. "Maybe ever before." Holding my hand in place, his eyes implored me to see the truth of it.

I bit my bottom lip, shaking my head again.

"Even then," I started. "There's no place for someone like you where I come from."

And that was the closest to the truth as I dared to tread.

I expected him to recoil — that had been the plan if I were being honest — but he simply rolled his eyes, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as his thumb caressed my wrist.

"There are few places where a tiefling is wanted." He told me simply. "I had started to hope here, with you, was one of them."

His smile turned sly as his tail curled around my leg once more.

I tried to pull away, a surprised laugh escaping me as the tip of his tail tickled the inside of my thigh with a gentle caress. His eyes crinkled at the corners, twinkling in delight at my response. I batted at his shoulder with my free hand, twisting away from his attention.

He stopped, releasing me and shifting to rest his head on a hand. He was still smiling, but a frown line was firmly in place between his dark brows as he looked down at me. He was so close that I could reach up and kiss him and that would be that.

"Your excuses are starting to sound hollow, my lady," he hummed.

As he spoke, he ran a hand over my cheek and down my chin, coming to rest against the side of my neck.

His eyes glanced down at my lips and up again.

I shivering with delight and wishing suddenly that I could have just turned everything off for a bit longer and enjoyed the moment. This conversation could have come  _after._

He might not know my name, but he knew  _me._ Wasn't that enough?

I closed my eyes against his touch, already knowing the answer.

I knew it wasn't enough.

It wasn't just my name I was hiding from him. I was hiding my past, and — more pointedly — my future; a future that he could be no part of.

As much as I wished I could have just lived in the moment and given us tonight, I knew I could not.

It was easier this way. If I'd let this go on, it would only make things harder for both of us.

I opened my eyes slowly, lifting a hand to still his fingers where they caressed my neck gently, eyes never leaving his own.

"We have such a massive task ahead of us, Valen," I said with a small sad smile. "Getting out of here and defeating Mephistopheles will be one of the hardest things we've ever done. We need to be focused." I tried to smile. "If we get through this, we can explore this,  _us_ , after."

I willed him to listen to me, unsure if I could reject him a single time more, but certain that — when this was all said and done — that I couldn't stay with him.

I had to go home.

And home was no place for someone like him.

He searched my eyes again, frown deepening as a barrage of emotions crossed his face. The lazy smile of tentative happiness was ultimately chased away by understanding and disappointment.

But, I think what hurt the most was the glimmer of hope that remained.

"After," he repeated with an unsure humm.

He pulled away to sit beside me, mulling something over in his mind.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped to mine.

"No, first I must say this," he insisted. "We might meet our end at any moment, and there might not  _be_ an after." His hand found mine on the bed between us and my stomach clenched at the familiarity of his words; different, but oh so similar to how I remembered them. "I would not die again with this unsaid."

I pulled my hand away slowly, lifting it to chase the hurt frown from his face, cupping his cheek once more. Unable to bear his pure blue gaze a moment longer, I lent forward, touching my forehead to his. "After, Valen." I said, letting my eyes drop closed. "Please."

I hated myself at that moment. Too weak to break it off properly, and too weak to tell him the truth and risk him deciding for me.

Sensing that this was not something I could be swayed on — and perhaps thinking that he had moved too fast for me, after everything that had happened the past couple of days — he relented, nodding silently.

I bit the inside of my cheek, wishing both that it had not let it go this far, and that we did not need to stop.

 _It doesn't need to stop_ , a small part of my brain shouted at me. I immediately shut it down. If I let this continue further, leaving would be that much more difficult than it already would be.

And I needed to leave; this wasn't my home.

And I missed my family so much that it  _hurt_. And, more than anything, I needed them to know that I was okay.

We let the moment wash over us, Valen shifting onto one side of the bed.

He pulled me up against his side, an arm around my back in a manner than very much did not follow the whole  _after_ rule.

But I let us have this moment.

"After," Valen hummed, starling me from my thoughts. "Would you consider travelling somewhere where we could both be at home," he mused, voice taking on a wistful tone. His voice dropped, and I glanced at the sheepish blush on his cheeks. "Sigil could be that for us."

I perked up suddenly, eyes widening as I realised that Sigil might very well be the place I needed to go to get home.

For what better place to find a door to my world, than from the City of Doors?

"You know what, Valen?" I hummed, a smile curling my lips. "I'd like that."

We lay like that for some time more, passion and hurt fading away into something a little more tentative and nervous. We enjoyed each other's warmth, as we waited for Deekin to return, neither of us willing to break the companionable silence we had found in this moment.

I think I could have stayed there for many hours more, if it weren't for Deekin's tentative knock, door handle turning as he tested it.

At the attempt, Valen very nearly jumped out of the bed, causing me to hit my shoulders against the bed frame with a surprised laugh.

His cheeks reddened as he hurried to let the demanding kobold in, the little bard's raspy voice calling to us from the hall.

I greeted Deekin gruffly before turning over to finally sleep, conscious that the night was getting away from us.

"Night Deeks." I said, and then, more quietly; "Goodnight, Valen."

I nestled into the warmth that his body had left behind.

The kobold curled onto the foot of my bed carefully, pulling the spare blanket over himself with a content sigh.

I warred between contentment and restlessness, my chest swelling at the warmth the memory of his touch brought, only to be chased away by the painful knowledge that whatever this was would all be over soon.

Eyes snapping open, I suddenly realised my mistake.

I'd promised him an  _after_  — after Cania, after Mephistopheles — as I'd thought it would no longer matter once we were done with this mess.

In my mind, we were always going to be parting ways when everything was done.

I'd thought that maybe I would leave in the night, without a trace. Or I would leave my notebook to explain everything. Sometimes Deekin would travel with me, sometimes he wouldn't. On the rare occasion, I dared to contemplate parting with Valen — and once upon a time, Nathyrra — with an honest goodbye, as friends.

But the same thing rung true in every scenario; I always left as soon as Mephistopheles was defeated.

Saying  _after_ had simply been a way to postpone the inevitable.

But now, I needed Valen to get me to Sigil, to help me find a portal. Something that — whilst not impossible —would not be quick or easy without him.

I swallowed, realising suddenly that I was going to have to tell him the truth… Or something very much like it.

And — after that — this all hinged on him  _wanting_ to help me.

Sighing, I turned, blinking into the room. The room was dark, lit only by whatever glowed red hot beyond the grates.

Valen lay on top of the blankets on his back, completely still but for the slow rise and fall of his chest. I could see the slight reflective glow of his eyes, a feature both he and the drow seemed to share in low light. He stared up at the ceiling, his expression impossible to decipher in the dark.

I'd really made a mess of things.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. And, hearing the gentle toss and turn of the tiefling on the other side of the room, I realised it didn't for him either.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The next bit is in Jane's messy handwriting, a short and to the point description of the City of Doors._

**Sigil**

Alias': The Cage, the Birdcage, The City of Doors, Little Ring, The Laugh and Giggle.

Location: Its location is still apparently up for debate, but Valen's heard that it's the centre of the multiverse; thus connecting it to the prime material plane and all other known — and unknown — planes. It is named the City of Doors, for the portals connecting it to all other planes.

Features: Sigil is the shape of a torus; the city located on the inside of the ring.

Government: The Lady of Pain

Does it link to Earth?  _This is underlined._


	28. Chapter 28

We'd spent the better part of the day stuffing around at the Ice Quarry. The quarrymaster, Gru'ul, had been under the pump when we'd arrived, in a state of panic at their shipment being behind because of a damaged grinder. Despite my pitiful attempt at a bribe, he'd been unwilling to trade with us until business returned to normal.

The grinder hadn't been damaged, so much as clogged; an imp's hand trapped between two gears, halting progress and deafening any who came too close with his shrill shrieks of fear and pain. Devils and ghosts of all shapes and sizes had paid us and the squealing devil no mind, as they went about their neverending labours.

It pleased me to know that imps looked infinitely less smug when they realised their lives were in your hands…

I'd contemplating just repairing the damage enough to grind the sorry sod through the machine, my face and fingers freezing as we worked out in the open expanse of the quarry. But, we'd ended up staying out there longer than necessary to help him, against my better judgement, and perhaps because — if even  _Valen_ wasn't insisting we just kill the devil and be done with it — it  _probably_ wasn't the right thing to do.

Valen shadowed me, attempting to block what wind he could as he watched me work. I'd pulled my gloves off to provide more movement to my already freezing fingers — being the smaller and the more dexterous of the two of us — attempting to manually wind the gears back. Deekin had been quick to retreat back to the warmth of the pit fiend's office when it became clear he was not needed.

One wrong move and my best hope was that the machine crushing the imp would buy me enough time to pull my hands out.

The gears jolted, scaring another shriek from the imp, wings flapping uselessly as he tried to yank himself free.

"Shut your bone-box," Valen hissed, hitting his palm against the metal machine in warning.

The imp hissed at him, spitting something in infernal which had Valen almost immediately replying in kind.

I jolted at the snarl of the foreign tongue on his lips, but was ultimately thankful that, whatever he'd said, both shut the little shit up and forced him to finally still.

I wound the gear back again, the imp gasping as some of the pressure loosened from his mangled wrist.

Just a little bit more.

I shook my head as I was forced to pull my marbled white hands free, rubbing warmth back into them as my joints popped in protest.

"If I offer you something for them, will you bite my head off?" Valen asked slyly, eyebrow raised in mock challenge.

"Not yet," I replied around the gloves in my mouth.

Ever the gentleman, he took the gloves from me, tucking them under his arm for safe keeping.

I didn't pull away when he reached for my cold hands, rubbing them between his much warmer ones. My heart skipped, stomach doing stupid little backflips as he stepped closer, bending to blow hot air against them, eyes on me all the while.

I offered a small smile, hoping he didn't see the shiver that ran up my body before I gently pulled away from his warmth, reaching back into the machine and tearing my eyes from him.

Conscious of Valen's breath tickling my cheek as I worked, I kept my eyes resolutely focused on my task.

Finally, the cog wound back a final time with a resounding click and the imp squealed in triumph, pulling his arm free. I grimaced, as the squeal quickly took on a horrified tone, the little devil staring at the limp mess of broken bones that had been his hand, hanging limply from his elbow. Most of his fingers were missing, and those that were left we're bent at random angles. Blood had crystalised on the surface of his scaly red skin.

Grimacing, I pulled a small vial from my belt, one of the healing potions I'd diluted and re-jarred earlier that morning, to stave off the frostbite.

Valen's hand closed around my wrist, stilling me.

I glanced back, and — noting his confused frown — rolled my eyes, gently pulling my arm free of his grasp.

"I didn't go to all this effort just to let him die from infection," I said with a smile.

I held the vial out for the imp and he greedily snatched it, startling a gasp from my lips. He hadn't even opened it, before he leapt from the ground, flapping away as he muttered something under his breath.

I heard the sound of the empty vial hitting the ground not too far from us, as he tossed it back in our direction.

"You're welcome," I hissed bitterly at his retreating form.

I turned back to the still broken grinder, returning to work and wishing that I had just minced the little asshole and been done with it.

Occasionally Valen would interject, pointing to chips of bone and red skin that still clogged the machine, breath on my face sending goosebumps across my flesh and bringing back memories of the night before. He would pass me wads of cloth to keep the machine in place, our fingers touching and lingering longer than necessary, little puffs of white air escaping my parted lips.

Always, I would pull away first, chest clenching like a vice as I returned to the grisly task that should have been enough of a cold bucket alone, never mind the deadly weather. But still my heart pounded and my stomach fluttered at the overwhelming nearness of him.

I bit my cheek as I worked, eyes hard as I realised again what a mess I'd made by not closing the door on this — whatever  _this_  was — properly.

When the grinder did finally blare to life I was ready, pulling my hand lose with a triumphant smile.

Valen helped me pull my pre-warmed gloves onto my brittle fingers, before we'd retreated back to the warmth of the quarry master's office.

Back in the warmth of the room, I didn't need any convincing to drink one of the small vials at my belt.

The quarry master noticed, laughing at my discomfort, long yellow fangs glistening from where he stood behind his upturned desk.

Smoke rolled off the pit fiend's scaly red flesh, and I realised that his body was what was lending warmth to the small room. He looked every bit the iconic devil; from his massive wings all the way up his tree-trunk of a neck to his long black horns.

The devil's size was dwarfed only by his aura of general annoyance; his sneer a permanent fixture, changing only in size. Evidence of his frustration was all around us, from the broken furniture to the smoldering dents that littered the walls.

Deekin seemed all-together unconcerned with his fuming company, sitting vicariously on a chair that had only three legs, arms outstretched for balance.

Our belongings were stacked into neat little piles in front of him, ready to sell.

The pit fiend waved a dismissive hand at our belongings, disgust clear on his face. "'Spose you're wanting to trade off your heirlooms, just like those yellow-skinned cross-piking gith, ey? Well go on then, show me what little trinkets you've collected, berk. And don't be expecting no pat on the back just 'cause you fixed grinder five."

We bartered for some time, buying everything that we'd possibly need out in the wastes of Cania, and selling everything that we wouldn't. As we traded, the pit fiend's language had become increasingly more and more colourful, evolving from intimidating to just plain fantastical. Valen would occasionally snarl something in infernal at a bad trade, causing Deekin and I to tense up nervously, but the pit fiend had a job to do — and he obviously hadn't risen to his station picking fights with tieflings — so he got on and did it. He certainly didn't do said job happily, but he did it. He would shake Valen's words off with another one of his tirades of an insult, followed by a more reasonable offer in the common tongue.

It was becoming increasingly apparent that the colourful turn of phrase Swift had weaved in and out of our conversation the night before had more to do with his lineage and less to do with him. I'd found myself smiling despite the towering pit fiend's presence, imagining Valen as a young pickpocket on the streets of Sigil, spouting local cant with the best of them.

Our packs lighter, and my satchel back where it belonged now that Deekin had his own, we left with everything we needed — along with almost a million in gold which we tucked away in my bag of holding, much to Deekin and Valen's outright dismay.

"No need to ration our potions, anymore," Valen said pointedly as we left the quarry, nudging me in jest.

I rolled me eyes, smirking. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

Despite things looking better than they had yesterday, I knew our small fortune was only  _just_ going to be enough to buy the Names we needed from the Knower.

And even then, our options were going to be limited.

I rubbed my fingers together gleefully once we were back on the cold streets, my new gloves like a second skin and the chill air barely noticeable through the enchanted material. They were snug enough that they tucked nicely beneath my bracers. The trade off may have been my worn Gloves of Discipline, but I was beginning to find discipline didn't matter as much if you didn't have to push through the pain of frostbite every waking minute.

Ahead, Deekin scooped up a handful of snow in his gloved hands, cackling as he threw the powder into the air before looking back over his shoulder at us with a toothy grin.

We'd been unable to do anything about bolstering our own body's resistance against the cold, but — between the new gloves, our thicker shoes and the extra healing potions — our limbs weren't going to drop off any time soon. We'd just have to rely upon the velox berries and the Firewater to keep our core temperatures up.

Despite it all, my new gear didn't stop me from slowing when we passed each of the pilgrims fire on the way to our final destination for the day, listening as they chatted between themselves about the city's dwindling ghost population with fear in their eyes.

We made slow progress, choosing to zig zag through the quieter streets and passing as few of the locals as we could, Valen's tail flicking irritably and body tensing each time we turned a corner. Despite his jumpiness, it was impossible not to notice that his smile was coming a lot easier than it had the day before. But for the life of me, I didn't know how that was supposed to make me feel.

Hair damp from falling snowflakes, we finally arrived at Aribeth's resting place; the caves on the outskirts of the city.

Once there, it turned out that it was all well and good to say that everybody deserved a second chance, but it was another thing entirely to try and help them get it.

We spent more time than I would have liked collecting the scattering of berry-picked velox bushes, pulling them roots and all from the ground and using them as fuel for our fire. I'd scattered a few of the berries in with the thorny brambles before lighting it with Emma's flint and steel.

The fire burst to life, colouring the blue and white cave of ice yellow, as we huddled around the flames. We waited quietly as the elven ghost defrosted, ice thinning and her true beauty shining through with every passing minute.

She was kneeling, her massive sword thrust tip down in front of her, hands resting heavily on the pommel. Ice melted from her face like tears, and her hair clung damply to her brow.

We stood to attention as soon as her lashes started fluttering, her once-frozen fingers tightening instinctively around her sword. I glanced at her weapon uneasily.

As soon as I was certain I wouldn't snap a digit off, I reached forward cautiously, eyes on her face as I pried her fingers away. Her weapon dropped onto the icy floor with a soft thud, and I kicked it aside, the blade skipping along the ice and we'll out of her reach. I was stepping back just as her eyes snapped open; darting between her sword and me in alarm.

Thankfully, Valen was ready when she leapt for her sword, reaching for the elf in a tight bear hug from behind and pulling her arms flat against her sides. He kicked her feet apart with a booted foot, so that she wouldn't have purchase, face tight with effort.

Her face hardened, hands opening and closing by her sides as she considered her options. Her eyes were wide and feral as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Whoa," I held my arms in front of me. "We just want to talk."

It was plain to see which instinct was strongest in Aribeth, between fight or flight.

She cut me off with a vicious snarl, throwing her head back and catching Valen in the throat. He coughed, gasping for air and stumbling back.

The elf jerked out of his encircling grip, far more powerful than her slight frame advertised and faster than anyone had a right to be in such heavy looking metal armour. Teeth bared, she lunged for me with an out-stretched arm.

Valen grasped desperately for her, his powerful hands encircling one of her wrists and using her momentum to spin her in a half-circle. Her eyes widened, and with a grunt of effort he threw her against the icy wall.

I jumped out of my defensive stance, drawing Enserric in a flash of angry red light as I levelled him at her throat.

Aribeth stayed were she had fallen, on all fours as she gasped in great gulps of air. She had an arm wrapped around her lower chest in pain as she gathered her wits.

"Why can't you people just leave me alone?" She hissed quietly at the ground.

With great effort, she pushed onto her knees, lifting her head, eyes roaming between me and my blade. She lifted her chin, exposing more of her neck before pushing herself harder against my blade's point.

At the sight of blood on her porcelain white neck I eased up on the pressure, letting my elbow drop ever so slightly.

As soon as I softened my stance, the fight seemed to go out of her.

"What do you want of me?" Her voice broke.

"Elf-lady looked cold," Deekin explained as the words I'd prepared for this moment suddenly escaped me.

Her eyes snapped to the little kobold, turning hard as steel. "I'm a traitor, will you trust me? I'm dead, will you return me to life?" With each of her questions her eyes found one of us and held. "I've lost my innocence, will you help me find it?" She shook her head, dropping her steely gaze. "Save your breath. There are some things you can't get back."

"Why did you attack us?" Valen asked cautiously.

His hand continued to hover over his flail's pommel, brow pulled down in a concerned frown.

She jutted her chin sharply at the dying embers between us. "Why did you light that fire?"

"You were making a mistake," I told her simply. "You can't give up. Not here."

"Maybe so, but it was my mistake to make." She lifted her chin proudly. Her shoulders dropped suddenly, tears glistening in her eyes as she took a great heaving breath. She lifted her head, staring up at the ceiling to hide her tears. "Please, just let me be."

"Why are you doing this?" I pressed.

And so she told us; the dam breaking. The words pouring out of her like a confession. And, whilst she told us her reasons, she made no excuses.

She told us how she barely knew who she was anymore, muttering over lost loves and broken promises with the detachment of one who no longer cared. She'd come to this cave, seeking to become one of the Lost, numb even to memories.

Her face turned hard when she told us how she had challenged Mephistopheles as he'd started devouring souls to fuel his army, fearful that she would be next. She told us how she refused to serve anyone ever again. She's served all her life. Tyr. Lord Nasher. Morag. The Old Ones.

She refused to serve anyone else in her un-life.

Mephistopheles was where it ended.

She excused her heroism as a selfish act born of her own self-preservation, not for those whose souls he had already gleamed to fuel his army of undead on the surface.

As she spoke Valen's face turned grim, the collection of stories we'd picked up over the last few days all coming together and making sense. Deekin nodded along with the detachment of a storyteller, eyes on my notebook as he scribbled notes to digest later and narrate in his own book.

With each turn of her story, I felt myself feeling more and more sorry for this twisted woman. But I honed my features, knowing that the last thing she wanted was my pity.

She was not evil, but neither was she good. Only cynical and jaded and sick of it all.

As she spoke, I found myself thinking; what kind of natural order let someone suffer, even in death?

I touched the hard band of the cursed ring under my gloves, and wondered — not for the first time — what  _I_ would find on the other side of it all.

Before all of  _this_ , I had been so sure. Even when my husband had gotten sick, I'd taken solace in the fact that — when it was all over — his suffering would end. He wouldn't even know. He would just be gone.

Now, I knew I was wrong.

I didn't know  _where_  he was. But I knew now that he was content.

I felt a swell of guilt at the thought of him, glancing at Valen out of the corner of my eye.

But, knowing that he was okay, that there was more after  _all this_  — and that it could be as cruel as Aribeth's fate — only gave me more questions.

She continued, telling us how Mephistopheles had twisted her fears, making her realise the truth of her fall from grace. She had lead a rebellion against her city and church, damning her soul to the hells, and she'd thought she'd done it all in the name of love and grief and righteous anger. But Mephistopheles had made her realise she had never loved her fiance Fenthick.

She'd done it all for herself.

Story done, and nothing left of her, she hung her head, eyes on the floor between us and unable to meet our gaze.

"Tyr  _chose_  you as his paladin," I told her, trying for certainly and coming just shy of it. I swallowed. "Do you doubt his wisdom?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. "I do."

Valen glanced at me sharply, the slightest crease of a frown on his brow. The words I spoke to Aribeth were a long way from those I'd spoken to him so very long ago on the ferryman's boat. Back then, we'd both expressed our disinterest in following deities. Now, I pushed a woman we'd just met towards one for our own benefit.

"God's make mistakes," she dismissed me, voice unsure.

"So do people," I replied instantly.

She glanced up at me sharply, hope shining through her glossy eyes, beautiful even with the transparent palour of undeath. She shook her head and the look of total self-loathing was back.

"Righteous is the one who does what is right when surrounded on all sides by evil," she said, her words ringing with the fever of a fanatic. Her eyes dropped again. "I did not do what was right."

I shook my head sharply, eyes hard and jaw set.

I reached out a hand to the elf.

"Then be righteous  _now_. Here, in the hells, surrounded on all sides by evil."

Valen watched me with something akin to pride on his face, and I smiled grimly. He wouldn't be so impressed if he knew this was scripted, that they were hardly my words.

She let go of the tension in her shoulders with a sigh.

Her hand was neither warm nor cold when she placed it within my own. It was simply a solid pressure, belied by her slight translucency.

I pulled her to her feet as Valen cautiously handed her weapon back to her.

His free hand rested on his flail's pommel, the warning in his stance firm, tail flicking.

She nodded to each of us in turn as she sheathed her sword, before considering the cave with a sigh.

"I will pray on it," she finally said. "If Tyr will have me, he will have me." She shrugged.

"I hope that he does," I admitted, before chewing on my lip and adding; "But I must admit that is not the only reason we came here."

She didn't seem surprised, motioning for me to continue.

"We seek the answers to the five-fold questions of the Sleeping Man. The fifth and final one."

She considered me with a frown. "You hardly seem a fanatic," she stated plainly.

I shook my head gently. "We're trying to get out of here."

She scoffed, her opinion on the matter clear.

"We're trying to stop Mephistopheles." I explained. "The Sleeping Man knows someone who can help us."

She seemed to consider my words, which is why what she said next was not at all what I expected.

"Leave me," she insisted.

I froze all over, fearing for an awful moment that I had made a mistake.

Her hard face softened ever so slightly at my response.

"Tell me where to find you," she said quietly. "One way or another, I will seek you out and we will finish this."

I relaxed, telling her where we were lodging and that we would be at the temple first thing in the morning.

And then that was that.

We left her to consider her future; to see if her God would have her and pledge herself once more to him. Or to accept that other side of her and truly embrace it, never to serve another again.

I was fairly certain I'd done enough to ensure she would embrace all that came with being a paladin of Tyr once more, but I'd been wrong before…

The three of us were silent when we left, her repeated mutter of 'one way or another' running through my head over and over.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following is in Deekin's scratchy handwriting. The lettering is wobbly at the edges of the page from writing without a solid surface._

**Aribeth de Tylmarande** _is the title of the half-page of notes. Followed by a list of her past actions against the city of Neverwinter and some direct quotes_

_It is the brain dump and charts at the end of the dot points that takes up the majority of the space._

Elf-Lady part of redemption story arc? New hero for novel?

...probably sell more books than Boss.

_Below this is a pro and cons chart, based on who would make a better heroine._

**Elf-Lady**

**Pro**

Dark backstory with redemption arc

Household name

Easy sell - Pretty elf

**Cons**

Might not have happy ending

Boss be insulted

**Boss**

**Pro**

Backstory with clear goal (getting home)

Mystery twists?

Happy ending possible

**Cons**

Plane-hopping backstory a cliche

Jane is plain-Jane human. Embellish more?

Questionable choices, good alignment easier sell. Leave things out?

_It's unclear who won, but the kobold's concluding sign off is concerning._

Push for romantic twist? Maybe Goat-Man like pretty elf ladies?


	29. Chapter 29

Deekin was furiously scribbling in my notebook as I recounted Undermountain and the Underdark. I was going into detail which I'd neither the time nor the energy for, in the Reaper's Nexus. I chewed thoughtfully on my bland dinner as I explained everything he'd missed with the bizarre air of indifference that time caused.

Valen would interject occasionally, adding — or more commonly  _countering_  — my interpretations, as he laid out the individual components of his armour to dry, emerald green metal strewn all across the floor.

We'd started in the main room, as we had the night prior, but we quickly found ourselves on the receiving end of unwavering attention from the tavern's devils, retreating from the freshly stained table — dark with Swift's blood — and their considering smiles with a single loaf of bread in hand. It had been a unanimous decision, even Deekin appearing uncomfortable and jumpy until we'd locked out room's door.

The conversation had been strained since the cave, none of us wanting to discuss what Aribeth might be going through, and all three of us unwilling to acknowledge that it was our last night in a warm bed. Valen and I hadn't spoken directly to each other since entering the room, his eyes darting away every time I dared to glance in his direction.

Despite it all, Valen's smile still came easier than usual as I recanted our adventures with the little kobold.

Valen was currently  _assisting_  in my retelling of the beholder hive, the tiefling lifting his fingers to his head like antennae and smirking at my scrunched up face. I tugged a bit of bread off and chucked it at his head.

"Boss kill beholder boss?" Deekin asked skeptically.

Indignant, I opened my mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Valen.

"Oh, she was fearsome," Valen told Deekin, immediately making me lift an eyebrow in suspicion. To me, he said; "However, I would have preferred you to have been on  _our side_ , for more of it."

The second piece of bread caught him square on the forehead.

He waved the crumbs away with a chuckle. "Thankfully your aim didn't strike as true that day, or Nathyrra and I would both be worse off."

My stomach clenched again at the drow's name, and I wondered, not for the first time, how she was faring. Despite our differences, I hoped that she and the Seer were safe.

At Deekin's expectant gaze, I rolled my eyes, before being forced to explain to the curious kobold how I'd been hit by one of the beholder's rays, accidentally attacking the drow and tiefling instead of the beholder's in my confusion.

I didn't like how long Deekin took to jot  _that_  part of the story down, before rolling his eyes up to me. "Why you gots to make little Deekin's job harder?"

I added, quite pointedly, that it had barely been for a minute, before quickly moving onto Drearing's Deep.

At least  _that_  painted me in a slightly better light. Except for the dying and the disagreements…

I sighed.

Deekin asked question after question, nodding along as he scribbled everything down. I glossed over the details of the inscribed gong, glancing at Valen nervously, but he didn't say anything; listening intently with a curious tilt to his head.

He didn't even interject when I failed to mention that I'd almost become a vampire's snack!

If Deekin noticed the tiefling's sudden silence he didn't say anything, so enwrapped in the tale he was, eyes alight in wonder, the faintest note of jealousy in his tone.

Valen's brilliant blue eyes found my own and held as I soberly told Deekin of the deva, the tone of my voice making her fate clear even before I got to that part.

Despite my fears, I felt no judgment when I mentioned my standoff with the dracolich and his phylactery, Deekin seemingly unsurprised at my attempt at negotiations as Valen grimaced at the memory of his death.

When I finally got to the part about my  _own_  death Deekin stilled, eyes snapping up to me as I spoke. "Again, Boss?" His tone held all the exasperation in the world.

I chuckled nervously, scratching at my chin as I told Deekin how I'd died, in as few words as possible, the memory of the dragon's breath so distant it felt almost like it belonged to someone else.

_Gods, it had barely been more than a week ago…_

Valen's eyes widened slightly in understanding before he said; "I'd been so sure that you were dead." His grim voice didn't give anything away. "And then when I realised that you were not, it had not occurred to me to question it."

I gave a flat smile, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. "Being linked to a devil has its pros," I waved around the room. "And cons."

A beat, and then; "Why didn't you say anything?" Valen asked.

The scratching of Deekin's pen returned, pausing every few moments as he glanced up at the two of us.

I blinked at him.  _Why_ didn't  _I say anything?_  I opened my mouth to reply, before frowning and closing it again.

"I don't know," I eventually admitted. "At first I thought you knew… and then when you didn't say anything it seemed an odd thing to bring up."

He shook his head in disbelief, and I realised that it was not at my words but at the honest truth of them.

"Dying for the sake of a mistrustful man like me," he smiled, before glancing at Deekin. "Write that down, kobold. What she left out was that — only the day before — I had told her in no plain terms that I did not trust her."

I felt a blush rise on my cheeks, before waving of his compliment with a scoff.

Smirking, I leaned across the bed to Deekin's notes. "Make that, 'the noble hero realised that she  _really_ didn't want to face down a dragon and took a much-needed nap as the tiefling did all the heavy lifting'."

I paused, eyes on Deekin's notes and about to say more, before realising what the words on the paper  _actually_  said.

A blush rose on my cheeks as I glanced nervously up at Valen before they went back down to the page.

_Observant little shit!_

Deekin at least had the decency to look sheepish as he pulled his notebook to his chest defensively

Valen glanced between us, leaning forward and tilting his head.

"Deekin thought it sell better this way." He defended himself with a shrug.

I glanced back at Deekin, eyes widening in warning as I tried — and failed — to shut him up.

Valen's frown deepened, lips pulling up into a bemused smile at my expression. "Dare I ask what you changed?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but the shameless kobold beat me to it.

"Deekin thought epic novel would sell better with romance," he explained matter-of-factly.

My face felt warm, and I eyed off the kobold in an attempt to not look at the suddenly quiet man across from us.

Deekin shuffled to the edge of the bed, as far away as he could get from me. "But Deekin has some questions first." He glanced up at Valen, pen poised. "Demons make babies?"

My surprised bark of laughter drowned out Valen's indignant splutter. He straightened, glancing between myself and Deekin, blush already rising on his neck and a vein popping in his forehead.

He rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably as he decided on what to say to that.

I wiped a tear from my eye, slapping my knee as his discomfort lent me some much needed false confidence. I gave him a shrug.

A moment of floundering, before; "Are you always so blunt with your questions?" He asked Deekin, eyes resolutely not meeting mine.

The kobold smiled. "Deekin can be very innocent when he wants to. That be part of his charm."

Swallowing his embarrassment, Valen raised a challenging eyebrow. "Well, I have a weapon that can crush a man's head into a pulp before he realises he is dead." He paused. "That is part of  _my_ charm."

I flipped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling and unable to meet Valen's eye. A grin was on my face, despite myself, as I waited for Deekin's retort.

I heard him place the book on the bed, rising to the challenge, voice firm and proud.

"Deekin once have old master who eat mushrooms and passes gas so bad it kill entire cave of kobolds. Deekin stick his head in bucket of water. Only reason he alive today."

A surprised beat.

"I've cut my way through a hundred devils, breathing in their own gore, and felt the slash of a hundred blades against my skin, yet never died."

"Old master roll on top of Deekin once while he be sleeping. Old master be really heavy."

I waited through the pause, biting down on the smile that refused to budge.

Valen sighed in exasperation. "Not much fazes you, does it?"

I felt the bed shift as Deekin shook his head with his whole body. "Nope." He exclaimed proudly.

I couldn't contain it any longer, I snorted, covering my face in surprise before bursting out in unabashed laughter. Valen's stunned silence broke, as he admitted a deep chuckle of his own.

Neither Valen or I dared broach the topic again, as I wrapped up the remainder of our time in the Underdark, Valen offering his insights from Lith My'athar's battle.

Once Deekin was happy he had everything he needed, he opened his book on a new page, looking at me with a tilt to his head. "What be title of book, Boss?"

Valen gave a bemused smile, tilting his head.

I pretended to contemplate the question for a moment.

"Hordes of the Underdark, Deek," I told him fondly.

He nodded as he wrote. But then he paused, pen poised on the blank space beneath.

"Umm, Boss?" He started.

"Hmm?"

"Deekin  _really_ happy to be in next bit of book." He nodded, looking up at me slyly. "So happy he promise to leave out how Boss smells like week old socks."

And with that he started writing, legs folded on the foot of our bed.

I blinked at him indignantly, eyes darting between him and Valen, the later of who simply shrugged noncommittally.

I raised an arm and gave a tentative sniff.

I mean, I didn't smell like peaches, but I didn't think I smelled  _that_  bad _._

"It's not like there are baths in hell," I scoffed, crossing my arms.

"What makes Boss think that? Bath's up the hall," he didn't look up, the exasperation clear in his voice.

I blinked at him and then Valen, before standing from the bed.

"Well why the hell am I just hearing about this now?" I exclaimed.  _Who knew when I'd next get a chance?_

I jumped from the bed, grabbing one of my knives and the tunic I'd intended to wear to bed.

Valen's smile faded into a deep frown as I busied myself.

"You're not actually going to use them, are you?" He asked in disbelief. At my raised eyebrow, his smile dropped completely, tone terse. "They're communal," he pressed.

"So were the ones in the Underdark."

 _Then again, I'd had Nathyrra with me then…_  I shook aside the uncertainty.

Finally ready, it occurred to me that maybe a bath wasn't the best reason in the world to endanger myself. Where was the girl who'd woken her husband to join her, whenever she needed to use the public toilets when camping?

I shook my head resolutely.  _No, I meant what I'd said to Valen the night before._  I blushed again at the memory that followed.  _I was a grown arse adult!_  I could handle myself.

And I needed to stop being so damn scared of everything.

Valen jumped to his feet when he realised I'd made up my mind, pulling his boots on and scrambling for this flail.

"I'll be fine," I waved him off, squaring my shoulders and walking out the door.

I shut it quickly to give Valen no time to argue.

The hallway was colder than our room, the sounds of the bar bursting my little bubble of comfort and reminding me that — just around that corner — was a whole slew of devils. …Devils that didn't care if you cut a man's neck wide open at the dinner table. I shivered at the memory of Swift's death, the reality of my situation chasing away the last of the warm fuzzy feelings in my stomach.

_Good riddance!_

The thought was half-baked, as even I was self-aware enough to know that I'd been enjoying myself. Enjoying this new  _in-between_  with Valen.

 _Well, enjoy it while it lasts_ , my brain told me whilst my heart was all aflutter and definitely paying it no mind

I made my way down the hall, only now realising that the room at the end didn't have a lock on it like the others.

_Trust Deekin to have checked behind every door…_

I tentatively pushed through and blinked at the steamy interior, thankful to find that nobody else was bathing.

Inside, the room was small, with a couple of open stalls with glowing grates in the stone floor — bigger than those in our room — besides which were buckets of water with ladles. The floor was slick, and steam rose all around me in lazy whorls.

I didn't waste any time undressing, piling my clothes carefully to avoid getting them wet with my knife on top. I ladelled the water over my head with a grimace at the coolness of it, before the grates hissed and the steam thickened, warming me all over.

I was too on edge to actually enjoy the process, as I quickly untangled my hair and scrubbed at my body with my old washcloth.

Done, I squeezed my hair out, daring to give myself a few minutes to drip dry over the grate, letting the heat evaporate what it could with every sizzling drop of water.

As dry as I was going to get, I found I was unable to pull my leather breeches back on over my still damp skin, I pulled my underwear and tunic on after a tentative sniff. I grabbed my knife and bunched up my clothes, darting to the door and throwing it open.

I gasped out an apology, heart hammering when it collided with somebody.

My apology was immediately cut short as I realised just who it was.

Valen had been standing in front of the door, back to me and waiting. He stepped away with a hand on the frame, looking far more irritated than he had a right to be.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He spoke over me with; "I told you not to go alone."

I glanced down the still empty hall and then up to his face.

His was blinking down at me in surprise, and I felt warmth flood my face as I fumbled with my pile of clothes in an attempt to pull my shirt hem down further.

His words finally processing, I rolled my eyes, pushing past him — once I was confident my tunic was in place — and making for our room. He closed the bathroom door for me, before following silently.

"What did I say about not trusting me to take care of myself?" I asked.

I immediately regretted it, as my mind roamed to the memory that followed. I looked over my shoulder and his eyes snapped up to my own, his thoughts evidently not far from my own if the blush colouring his cheeks was anything to go by. He frowned.

"Fears keeps a smart man from danger."

I really shouldn't have argued the point; fear had been what had kept me going for as long as I had. I'd always been careful, surrounding myself with people who were brave.

But I'd made it this far, and I'd survived more than I could have ever imagined, and I realised suddenly that I didn't want  _that_ to be me anymore.

I wanted to be brave.

"So why are  _you_ never afraid?" I pressed him with a cheeky smirk.

"I am not a smart man." He chuckled. "And I have the scars to prove it."

A sly thought entered my mind, the words 'I'd like to see them' on the tip of my tongue. But I didn't say anything. Instead, I was simply thankful that he was following me, given the severity of the blush that inflamed my face.

The silence that followed didn't belong to someone who was brave.

I swallowed.

When I pushed into our little room, my face flushed and shift damp from the beads of water dripping from my curling hair, Deekin barely glanced up. He was still focused on the pages of his book, an exactly the same as he had been when I'd left him.

"Deekin tells you Boss be fine," Deekin said as Valen entered.

I smiled fondly at the kobold, fighting the urge to stick a finger or tongue in Valen's direction and failing and doing both. Valen simply shrugged off the comment, returning to sit on the side of his bed, as he tugged off his boots.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, as I let the sound of Deekin's pen scratching on paper lull me into a sleep filled with dreams of just what someone braver than I could be doing.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

 _The list below is in Jane's handwriting. It's titled_ Things I Miss the Most:  _and it is logically placed between a map of The City of Lost Souls and a very brief list of animals commonly found in the wastes of Cania._

**Things I Miss the Most:**

(Not in Order)

My family

My friends

The internet

Streaming music

Being bored

Showers

Toilets


	30. Chapter 30

Aribeth was waiting for us when we arrived at dawn, the spirit's form fading in and out of focus as she paced back and forth out the front of the temple. She'd greeted us with a tentative nod, uncomfortable under our scrutiny and ready to depart from the haunted city.

Once inside, we answered the five-fold questions, the sensei begrudgingly allowing us entrance to the Sleeping Man. She waved a dismissive hand towards his chamber after bestowing me with her amulet, which I slipped over my head. The bulky bling was supposed to be a means to help me see into his dreams, focusing my mind. So far, I didn't feel any different.

The end of the hall was warmer than the rest of the temple but, despite this, I felt my skin rise with goosebumps as we passed the room's threshold into the Sleeping Man's chamber.

"Do you feel it?" Aribeth asked, voice filled with wonder. "His… goodness?" She closed her eyes, smiling. "It's like being young again!" Her eyes snapped open, seeking out my own. "You can feel it, can't you?"

"Maybe," I replied, tentatively.

"I can feel his happiness like it is my own," she explained. "His sadness too. Happiness because his love is coming. Sadness because she is not yet here. That is how hope works, I think… The mingling of the two."

"And you feel that way?" I asked her tentatively. "Hopeful?"

"I guess I am," she replied after some deliberation, as her eyes roamed across the face of the Sleeping Man.

Deekin sniffed tentatively at the air as we piled around the bed come altar. He seemed all-together unaffected by the divine creature's presence, merely curious about what all the fuss was about.

I wish I could say I was unaffected by him, but his beauty was impossible to ignore. Even lying down it was plain to see he was tall, eight or more feet of pure power. His opalescent emerald skin did nothing to detract from his looks, his dark lips parted slightly in sleep, chest rising and falling as he drempt. His head was bald, allowing me to see the twitching of his pointed ears as he listened for something. Most impressive of all were the massive white feathered wings, tucked underneath him and fluttering slightly in the drafty room.

The words 'She will wait for you by the gates of Cania' were carved lovingly on a plaque, attached to the foot of the bed, like labelled art at a museum.

I tried to understand the feeling that Aribeth had explained, but all-in-all the Sleeping Man's aura just left me feeling uncomfortable and itchy.

"What a silly man," I found myself saying.

Valen scoffed in agreement.

He hung back in the doorway, a respectable distance from the powerful celestial.

My borrowed amulet began to hum, glowing from within with a dull green light.

I lifted a hand to the cool metal of the pendant, closing my eyes and focusing on the noise with a frown. The sound grew louder when I focused on it, but I couldn't make any more sense of it. I bit my lip in frustration, trying again. Apart from the low drone, all I could hear was the swishing of Valen's tail and the steady breathing of Aribeth by my side.

I shifted and the humm grew in volume.

Experimentally, I knelt closer to the Sleeping Man, rewarded for my efforts when the sound changed in pitch. My eyes snapped open and I lifted an arm to the altar, resting my hand tentatively on top of the Sleeping Man's. The noise grew louder again.

I paused, watching the man's face for any sign of waking. This close, I noticed a sadness to his features, a weariness that seemed to cling to his brow. Despite this, the corners of his lips were turned up in a gentle smile.

I shivered again, closing my eyes and focusing only on my breathing and the noise that permeated the room all around us.

I tried, I really did.

But slow bouts of meditative focus and contemplation just weren't my strong suit.

I pulled away with a grimace of disgust, unable to gleam anything from the man's dreams.

My frustration clear, Deekin pulled the small trumpet from his satchel with a grin.

"Little Deekin wake the Sleeping Man?"

I stepped back, giving him the floor with a flourish.

"She won't be happy about this," I warned them.

Valen stepped out of the doorway, rolling his shoulders and drawing his flail as I clamped my hands over my ears and waited.

Deekin brought the trumpet to his lips and blew.

For a moment, it seemed as if the multiverse itself had fallen silent. But then, with a ripping, tearing sound came the screaming winds of Pandemonium. Deekin played for only a few seconds, but I could feel my whole body vibrating along with the shaking room.

Then, just when I thought I could take no more, everything quietened and the Sleeping Man stirred.

As the rumble of the trumpet faded, it was replaced by the shriek of the sensei.

I drew Enserric, the usual sounds of his steel drowned out by the ringing that still lingered in my ears.

"No!" The sensei wailed, falling to her knees. "No one disturbs the Sleeping Man!"

Tears glistened in her eyes as she tugged at her hair, searching the room for the one responsible, before landing on the sheepish kobold.

She lunged for him with a shriek of pure outrage.

Deekin's eyes widened as he dropped the instrument from his lips, arms lifting in defence as he began to back away.

She was quick.

But I was ready for her.

I swung my sword around, bringing the pommel into the side of her temple and following through with a kick to her side with the flat of my boot.

She gasped out a surprised hiss of pain, Valen planting a foot on her chest, levelling his flail at her head.

He needn't have bothered.

When she hit the ground, she blinked at Valen in surprise, eyes widening before she stilled. Blood leaked far too heavily from the wound on her temple.

I hissed, reaching for a potion as Valen went to push a hand to the wound.

A moment, and he looked up at me with a grim shake of his head, wiping the fresh blood onto the sensei's robes.

 _Dammit! If_ she  _was his true love…_

I tried not to think about what that would mean for the Sleeping Man and any hope of him helping us defeat Mephistopheles. I turned my attention back to the planetar, taking a steady breath to try and calm my whirlwind of thoughts.

The celestial was squinting at me, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dim green light of the room. His eyes traced every curve of my face, his eyes lingering a little too long for comfort.

With a frown, he pushed himself onto his elbows, muscles rippling with the effort, before dragging his eyes away from me and considered the form of the fallen sensei.

"It seems you made short enough work of your attacker," he started, unsure. "Have you any idea who she might have been?" He paused, head snapping back around to me. "I am still in Cania, no?"

His voice was warm, his accent a lilting melody that emphasised his vowels and the deep timbre of his voice.

I took a deep breath, sheathing Enserric and hiding the red glow of his magic. "That gith was the sensei. She runs…  _ran_ this temple."

"And the god she worshipped?" He pressed, considering me carefully.

"You," I stated plainly.

"Me?" He blinked slowly, before his eyes widened. "I sense the truth of it, but the very notion… it's horrible!" He moved to sit on the edge of the altar, wings fluttering experimentally behind him. "Did she not see the heresy in it?" He shook his head, eyes finding my own again. "You were right to do away with her, before such notions spread."

His words held no sympathy for the fallen woman, and I found myself frowning at the angel's blatant disregard for life.

He grimaced, running his hands over his ears. "I swear, I can still hear that damned trumpet." Shaking his head, he returned the entirety of his focus back onto me. "You risked much by waking me. Why?" His eyes held me in place. "My one true love. Is she here?" His wings fluttered.

I contemplated my next words carefully, knowing that he would only help us with the right incentive.

"I do not know," I said carefully. "But you were told she would meet you at the gates of Cania…"

"Maybe Deekin be your true love?" the kobold piped up with a cheeky grin.

I snorted at the joke, but the Sleeping Man barely deemed Deekin's comment worthy of attention, let alone a response. As the planetar considered my words, I turned my gaze to Aribeth. She had schooled her face into careful blankness, narrowing her eyes at me as she tried to determine the hidden agenda behind my words.

I glanced back at the Sleeping Man as he leant forward, unabashedly letting his eyes roam over me; from my messy braid, to my array of weaponry and dark leather armour. It was impossible to know what he thought.

 _Not that I cared._ I bristled at the scrutiny, motioning again towards Aribeth as subtly as I could manage.

He seemed to finally notice her, and his shoulders relaxed, lips pulling up in gentle smile.

 _Well, you're not my type either, buddy!_ I thought indignantly.

She was ramrod straight, eyes darting nervously between myself and the angel as she realised what I was insinuating.

"Could it be true?" The Sleeping Man whispered hopefully.

Aribeth took a tentative step back, lifting her hands defensively in front of her.

"No," he told me, shaking his head. "Bring me proof. Then, I will know whose soul is matched to my own." His eyes roamed between the two of us lazily, resting on Aribeth's beautiful features longer than strictly polite. "And then I will love them forever more." He closed his eyes. "I have waited for more than a century, there is no harm in waiting longer…"

I frowned.

"Well, it's not—"  _It's not me,_ I had intended to object.

Instead, he snaked a hand out, grabbing hold of my wrist; green skin on black gloves. I could almost feel the heat of him through the material.

His eyes were open and imploring.

I stared down at his tight grip.

"Every soul has a true love. Even a foolish man such as I," he assured me. "Who are we to question the god's choices?"

 _How romantic!_  I thought sarcastically.

I pulled my hand out of his grasp pointedly.

"And to find this proof?" I pressed, rubbing my wrist absently.

He seemed hurt that I had pulled away, lips pulling down and eyes imploring, but he made no complaint or attempt at remedying it.

_Good._

I could feel Valen's warm presence by my back, could hear the irregular swish of his tail as it flicked in irritation.

"Somewhere," the Sleeping Man started, "banished to the furthest wastes of Cania, is a creature called the Knower of Names…"

I crossed my arms. "And why didn't you seek her out yourself?" I asked.

His eyes continued roaming across every inch of my face, narrowed in consideration.

"I faced a choice," he explained gently, voice low. "I was granted only a single question, and a single answer… do I gamble everything and learn my true love's identity, with no guarantee of ever finding her?"

"Or do you learn where she might find  _you_?" Aribeth finished for him.

He nodded to the elven spirit, lips pulling up in a gentle smile. "Knowing then that we would at least have the fortune of gazing upon each other's faces." He barely blinked. "Unrecognisable, but still in love."

I shifted uncomfortably, the movement surprising him out of his trance.

"I chose the latter," he explained.

"Clearly," Valen mused, unimpressed.

I looked over my shoulder at the tiefling's voice, cocking an eyebrow at his defensive stance. He was leaning against the doorframe, blood stained hands crossed atop his chest. His jaw was clenched, muscles popping below the surface.

I rolled my eyes at him, hoping to express just how ridiculous a person I thought the planetar was. Valen frozen, before smirking and consciously relaxing his stance.

I looked back at the Sleeping Man, who was observing our silent exchange down the length of his nose, lips pulled back in poorly veiled distaste.

His eyes found mine again, the question of my company clear.

_Bigoted prick…_

I took a deep breath.

I glanced Aribeth's way, noting that she looked equally unimpressed, despite her earlier awe.

_Here's hoping he's just not very good at giving first impressions, because it would be nice to have a planetar on our side when we fight Mephistopheles. And the only way that was happening was if he thought Aribeth was his true love._

_Or you,_ Enserric piped up helpfully with a chuckle.

I rolled my eyes.

And so, the planetar — who may or may not have been Aribeth's destined love, but was most assuredly not  _mine_ — told us about the Knower of Names' treatment at the hands of her lover, Mephistopheles. He told us how he had risen to power after she had named those that meant to betray him. How he had rewarded her by banishing her somewhere only he could find her, lest his enemies use her against him.

Just like we were hoping to, now.

Valen chuckled humorlessly at the revelation, shaking his head.

The Sleeping Man told us that we could ask the Knower of Places for her sister's destination, before imploring that we ask for the name of his true love and bring it back to him.

He warned of the five guardians, two slain by his hand and three yet remaining, Valen's tail resuming its steady flick at the prospect of a fight.

Then, he told us of his deconstructed puzzle ring — powered by hope, of all things — which would lead us to the first of the Knowers, if that is who we truly hoped to find. He summoned a planar door to his vault, warning us of the guards he'd left in place and assuring us that that was where we would find the three pieces of his ring.

We barely spoke as we entered the planetar's pocket realm, fighting through summoned skeletons that Aribeth made quick work of with her god-given abilities.

_How she doesn't accidentally smite or turn herself, I don't know…_

The guardians all dead, I placed the pieces together — the ring magically fusing once I lined them up properly— the words  _hope, faith_ and  _love_ engraved on the inside, almost too small for the human eye to see. I rolled my eyes at the inscription.

"What a pathetic sad sop," I hissed.

"You do not think it romantic?" Valen pressed. His voice gave nothing of his own thoughts away.

I pulled a glove off, placing the ring on my finger and blinking in awe at the fuchsia glow that it gave everything. I smiled at Valen, who was bathed in colour, glowing brighter than anyone.

He waited for my answer.

"Look, props to the guy for coming to the hells to meet people." I said.  _We've all been there._ "But taking a nap and waiting for  _her_ to go to all this effort? No, thank you. I like my men less Snow White, more…" I trailed off at his amused smile, his eyebrows raised as he waited for the rest of my sentence. "More,  _more."_ I finished lamely with a dismissive wave of my hand.

I pulled the ring off, the warm glow fading from his skin and causing my head to spin as everything returned to normal.

"He seemed to be under the impression he was waiting for  _you_ ," Valen broached carefully, all hints of the teasing smile gone from his face.

I snorted.

Aribeth and Deekin returned from their looting of the chamber, just in time to catch the tail end of Valen's statement.

"And Aribeth," I jutted my chin in the elf's direct. "And who knows who else might have passed by and said hi, whilst we've been gone. And he'll sit and wait and one day she'll pass him by." I scoffed. "It's pathetic."

Aribeth seemed torn, her frown enough to grab both mine and Valen's attention. She opened her mouth to say something, before shutting it and shrugging, her smile flat.

"It's hope," she said, simply.

"It's something," I scoffed.

Valen smiled, eyes crinkling in good-humour. "It pleases me to hear it," he said to me, slyly. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, the butterflies returning at the promise in his eyes. "I do not think I would enjoy our  _after_ quite so much if he insisted on being involved."

I blinked dumbly at his words, before chuckling. No, the word 'chuckle' didn't encompass the sound properly. It was giggling.  _Giggling!_

Trying to even out my voice and the erratic fluttering in my stomach, I pulled my pack higher onto my shoulder and made as quickly as I could for the portal.

Once through, I was impossibly thankful for the cold air of Cania on my cheeks, the promise of  _after_  still ringing in my ears.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The list is in Jane's easily recognisable scrawl._

**Things I Don't Miss**

Working nine to five

Public transport

Bills

Housework

Big empty house

Incurable illnesses


	31. Chapter 31

For most of the morning, I followed the glowing red path summoned by the sensei's ring; Deekin, Aribeth and Valen trusting in my lead as we left the protection of the city's walls well behind us.

Every now and again my mind would wander and the magical red path would thin out, washing across the landscape and bathing my companions in a warm glow — most prominently Valen — which I most definitely  _did not_  want to consider the meaning behind too deeply. I would blink in surprise, before shaking off whatever thought had dragged me out of the present, forcing myself to focus only on finding the Knower of Places. With renewed attention, the path would almost immediately grow warmer, the red lines through the untouched snow strong and clear, fueled inexplicably by my hope.

We had already faced the first trial in our journey; a great hulking balor who Valen had seemed all too eager to kill. He had barely paused between identifying the devil's hulking form in the distance and unhooking his great flail at his waist. He'd charged into the fight with a roar of effort and absolutely no warning, leaving us all to blink ahead in surprise. Aribeth had drawn her sword with a hissed curse — the colourfulness of which was altogether unexpected from a paladin — as she attempted to keep pace with the tiefling.

The fight itself was hard to recall in clear detail; the sensei's amulet shifting my form from pixie to earth elemental to wolf and back, in a dizzying flash of lights. Even expecting the change, the feeling of being unmade and then remade over and over had left my head spinning. The lumbering swing of my giant stone fist had quickly turned into the nervous wine of a wolf at one point. The balor had very nearly battered my small wolfish form aside as I had tried to familiarise myself with my new body mid-fight. Thankfully, some hidden instinct had taken over, and I'd ducked under the blow with speed and awareness that would never have been possible in my true form.

As much as I'd been secretly looking forward to the flight offered by the pixie form, the wolf had been my favourite. The pure speed offered by the small but powerful body had left me feeling slow and senseless when I was slammed back into my body. In that form, sights had been different; dull and colourless, but the smells had been something magical — a tasting of emotions and information that had left me wishing to be free to test the true limits of the wolf.

However, it was the hulking elemental form — once I familiarised myself with the limited arm movement — that had ultimately come in handy, as I'd pulled the beaten balor's corpse out of our path with barely any effort. Then, with a languishing couple of hits from a rock hard fist, I broke a hole in the face of the cliff, exposing a long-hidden cave, which would have been impossible to notice without the red glow of the ring directing me.

Once confident we were walking in the right direction, I would pull the enchanted ring off and pocket it; the red glow making me feel detached from the white world around us. With each step, my head pounded with a headache that had refused to let up after my rapid bouts of transformations.

Once through, the cave had opened into a great vista; the never-ending blanket of glistening white laid out on display for us all to see. The light grey sky seemed to almost meld completely with the white horizon, broken only by great mountains of ice glimmering in the distance like giant piles of quarts. Finding shelter would be hard out here; a fact I'd long feared and suspected. But the wind had buffeted against the small patch of my face that I had left unprotected, urging us ever onwards and thoughts of our impending need for sleep pushed from my mind as an issue for later.

After a day of white nothingness, the only sound the billowing wind, what we faced next was an almost welcome contrast.

The river ahead of us was made from lava; molten orange and flowing wide and rapid. Little crackle and pops were audible over the screech of the wind and the banks were made of impacted ice, the two elements seemingly unaware that the other existed.

The heat the river threw off was a welcome reprieve, and the change of scenery seemed to finally pull Valen out of whatever deep thoughts that had kept him silent since the fight with the balor guardian.

"We could try swimming, but I wouldn't recommend it," he said wryly as I considered the bank.

He considered all sides, searching for an alternative when it became clear we needed to cross. I felt myself relax at his words, comforted by the fact that he hadn't yet lost his humour.

We followed the river for as long as we could, before finding a narrow pathway cut into the ice.

We struggled our way uphill, Valen's hand finding mine more than necessary as he helped me up the slick surface. I had neither the energy nor the willpower to resist him each time he pulled me closer to his radiating warmth after helping me up the incline. Our eyes would hold, and — after the first time — I hardly startled at the little flecks of red that had become his new normal.

Aribeth seemed altogether unaffected by the cold, happy enough to answer Deekin's questions as we trekked through one painfully cold hour and the next. The stories seemed to keep Deekin's mind off the chill well enough, and — when that failed, and his chattering teeth and my slowing movements became too hard to ignore — we sipped on some of the burning drink the tavern keeper had made for us, staving off the sluggish effects of the cold long enough for us to find somewhere to camp for the night. The drink burned the whole way down, warming my limbs and cheeks, and tasting — not unpleasantly — like a fruity whiskey.

As we travelled, we crossed paths with white wolves feral with hunger, ice trolls that barely had thought beyond protecting their territory, and the occasional party of devils that had seemingly struck out on their own for some sinister task or another.

With each fight, Valen took a little longer to pull himself out of the haze of battle, his eyes distant and searching for the next enemy. In these moments, I would keep my distance, worrying my lip and on edge. But each time —  _eventually_  — he would snap to attention, barely looking in our direction before pacing ahead, tail flicking behind him and back ramrod straight. He would quickly become an angry silhouette that I had to squint to make out, and we would all hurry to keep up. Each time it would take longer for him to rejoin us, slowing without a word once his eyes were more blue than red, blood carefully wiped from his flail and face.

Beyond exhausted, and even Valen sipping on the latest bottle of Firewater to stave off the cold, we finally found a place to collapse on the other side of an astral doorway, made visible to me by the Sleeping Man's ring. Hand-in-hand, I lead them through the glowing red doorway, breathing a sigh of relief at the wall of heat that greeted us.

Beyond the door was a cavernous room with several walkways blocked by gates. The walkways zigzagged through a sea of bubbling lava in a maze-like pattern. The red glow of lava lit the room, casting dramatic shadows all around us, and throwing the far reaches of the room into total darkness. I removed the ring, the glowing path impossible to make out in the low red light.

I positioned myself behind Valen and Aribeth upon entering the puzzle-room, alert for signs of the mimic that I knew prowled within.

Once we were sure we weren't going to be immediately attacked, Deekin dropped his pack with a content sigh, grinning with a mouth wide with more teeth than I remember him ever having. Aribeth — whilst unaffected by the cold — was equally exhausted, and seemed content to stop here, dropping her own bag and considering the room with her hands on her hips.

I peeked out from behind Valen, who was analysing the room with a critical eye, hand on his weapon. He was the only one of us that exhaustion hadn't softened.

Deekin fell heavily onto his backside, considering mine and Valen's hesitancy with a tilt to his head.

"Anything out there, you rekon?" I asked Valen after a moment of silence.

I noticed his curved ears twitch absently, holding my breath. But then he relaxed, shaking his head. "There does not seem to be," he said. "But we shall sit watch in pairs, just to be sure."

_Double-shifts just to be sure there was always a non-human keeping an ear out, more like._

Enserric chuckled at the insane surge of jealousy I experienced, at the thought of his and Deekin's stronger senses. It passed almost as quickly as it had come upon me.

I glanced nervously around the room again, but the mimic I knew to be within was nowhere in sight; the only sound the distant crackle of the lava.

With a defeated sigh, I shucked off my bag, pulling my cloak around me tighter and appreciating the feeling of warmth returning to my numb body.

It didn't take us long to set up, all of us quiet as we went above it our tasks.

I coughed into my scarf, itching at my running nose as I laid out the bedrolls and settled into my own, pulling my tight leather breeches off with only a moment of hesitation. We ate cold, hard rations in silence before Valen insisted on the first watch.

I paused for only a moment, before offering up my company.

Deekin didn't take long to give up on his writing, curling up on his bedroll and pulling the crinkly blankets up to his chin with a whispered 'goodnight'. Beside him, Aribeth — despite how easily she had seemed to keep pace throughout the day — offered a thankful smile before lying down to sleep. As she settled in, it surprised me to see the solidity of her form had faded around the edges, something I had simply thought a trick of the harsh whiteness of Cania. But as the time ticked by and she finally slept, the hard lines of her jaw returned, the lashes on her cheeks transitioned from a blur of black to individual lashes that fluttered with unknown dreams.

Valen paced for most of our shift, pausing regularly at any sound before returning to his short sharp laps of our little platform. No matter how much he paced, he always remained between the single gangway over the lava and us; his imposing form the only reason I could sit comfortably, even knowing the mimic was out there somewhere.

Some time into my watch, I found myself yawning, eyes watering at the effort.

It was mid-yawn — as I was stretching my legs out under my bedroll — when Valen seemed suddenly to remember that I was there. His head snapped in my direction. He looked like he was going to say something, before he sighed, closing his eyes.

Eventually, he opened them again, saying quietly; "Sleep. I will be fine on my own."

I tried to ignore the pang of frustration I felt at his apparent need for less sleep.

"I'm fine," I insisted as I fought through a second yawn. "Just bored. Talk to me."

His frown deepened for a moment, and I thought he was going to brush me off. But then the hardness of his face seemed to soften and the tense set of his shoulders relaxed.

"And what does the lady wish to discuss?" he eventually asked, an eyebrow raised.

I floundered for a moment, my mind jumping from question to question before I realised suddenly that — whilst I knew so much about him —  _he'd_  never actually been the one to share it.

"Tell me more about your life," I finally settled on. "Before the Seer."

So he did, his voice gruff and face grim. And, if he was surprised by my question, he didn't show it.

As he spoke, his pacing slowed, until I found he was nervously glancing between me and the empty space on my bedroll, indecision clear on his features.

I noticed it a few times, before nodding with a gentle smile, motioning for him to join me.

He slowly sat by me, the two of us a hair's breadth apart — of which my body was all-too-aware — but his attention was still very much on the gangway, alert for any movement.

Voice lowering, so as not to disturb the others, he continued to recount his childhood in Sigil. He told me what he remembered about his mother, and what it was like growing up in the brothel she had worked at for as long as he'd known her. He recounted, in a voice flat with intentional detachment, how she had been killed when she could no longer work. And then he told me matter-of-factly how he'd been forced to fend for himself on the streets barely an hour after her death.

I asked question after question, hungrily eating up any new morsels of information that I could.

 _What was your mother's name?_ He didn't remember, but her name at the brothel had been Shadowbreath — a name he had later taken for himself.

 _What was Sigil like?_ I asked him, and he recalled his years as a pickpocket, running with a gang of other like-minded orphans, with a fond little smile.

 _How did you end up in the Blood Wars? He'd been p_ lucked off the street in his youth by his old master, Grimash't, who had forced him to fight as a slave for what may have been decades. It surprised me to find that, when he spoke of the horrors he'd experienced in the wars, he recounted them — yes, with bitterness — but also a deep longing, the self-loathing on his face clear.

I quickly found that simply  _knowing_ about his past, and hearing  _him_ speak of it first-hand, were two very different things. This was true, no time more so, than when told me off his torture at Grimash't's hand, brought upon after the Seer had awoken the long-forgotten spark of humanity within him.

I expected to hear hate in his voice as he spoke of his torture — anger, at least — but there was simply grim acceptance that everything he had endured was merely the fate expected for someone like him.

"Remind me to never complain about anything ever again," I said for lack of anything more fitting to say.

His hand stretched out between us, resting on the material of my blanket above my knee. I ignored the shiver that ran through me, the blanket the only thing between his hands and my bare legs underneath, I could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him, despite the blanket's thickness.

Absentmindedly, he picked at the threads with his fingers, eyes downcast and hair falling over his forehead.

"There are some good memories," he eventually admitted. "My childhood in the beautifully hideous City of Doors was one of them." He smiled. "To me, that will always be home."

"Any others?" I found myself asking.

He paused, looking up and glancing between my eyes as he searched for something.

"For a while there was," he admitted, eyes dropping back to the blanket. "But you understand what it is like to lose someone that you love." My stomach clenched at his admission. He looked directly at me. "Sometimes you wonder if it was worth the pain." He shook off some unbidden memory, and for a moment I barely heard his words over the memory of my husband's final shuddering breaths. He must have seen something telling cross my face, as his grip tightened on my knee. "But that was a long time ago for me."

I could hear my short shallow breaths in my ears, an echo of those ragged ones wet with sickness. I closed my eyes, attempting to even out my breathing and focusing my thoughts away to something that didn't make it feel like the world was pressing down on my chest.

Like I did every time this memory shouldered its way to the surface, I forced it back down with my own barrage of better ones.

It was always the same memories.

Brown eyes alight with love. His hands raised in victory as I chased the wheelchair down the park's slope. His hand in mine as we explored the reef, pointing out a turtle with an underwater shout of victory.

…Blue eyes crinkling at the corners in a gentle smile.

That last one was new…

I sighed, looking up into those same blue eyes as they carefully observed me, hand gripping my knee through the blanket. I swallowed.

"How long ago did she die?" I asked quietly, voice wavering.

He forced a flat smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I do not know," he admitted. "Grimash't killed her shortly after I first met the Seer. I could not tell you how much time passed between—" his pause was barely noticeable "—then and when I finally managed to escape. It would have to have been almost a decade ago, now."

We found ourselves lost in our own thoughts for some time.

"How do you move on from that?" I eventually asked.

He shook his head slowly, understanding in his eyes. "I do my best to remember what I can of her." He smiled gently, not looking at me, but at an image in his mind. "But there has been nobody else since." A blush began to rise on his cheeks. "I have moved on, however… but there has been no-one else." He shrugged. "Time, as they say."

 _Time heals all wounds_.

I scoffed at the saying; it was one I'd heard many times from well-meaning friends and family, again and again and again. They'd only been trying to help, and for that I would always be grateful. But it was only those that had experienced what I had who had known that there was simply nothing that could be adequately said. One of my close friend's boyfriends — who I had barely known at the time, but who had recently lost his mum — had said it best;  _it just fucking sucks_.

But then I suddenly realised — for the first time ever — that time  _had_  helped.

Sure; it hadn't healed me, but time had definitely  _changed_  my hurt.

"How did he die?" Valen asked carefully.

_Cancer._

"He was sick," I said with a shrug.

The frown returned between his brows, my answer surprising him — an altogether different response to what I was used to. Usually, I was met with understanding; almost everyone following up with their own related story of someone they once knew who had also been lost to cancer.

"Sick?" Valen repeated in surprise. "He was not an adventurer?"

"An adventurer?" I surprised myself by laughing. A small smile joined his frown at my response. "He was a home-body!" I smiled fondly. Quieter, I said; "And a chef." I could feel the pressure on my chest lightening as I spoke. "He made the best lemon meringue pie."

"Then how in the nine hells did you find yourself in the Underdark?" he blinked in disbelief, head tilted.

Twisting the truth was like a second language to me at this stage and I didn't have to think long on my next words.

I held up my ungloved hand, showing him Shaundakul's cursed ring. "After he passed, I was feeling lost, detached from everyone that I cared about. Shaundakul put me on the path to Drogan's school." I chuckled. "If he could see me now! He'd barely recognise me…" I shrugged again. "The rest you know from Deekin's book." I glanced fondly at the sleeping kobold, tucking my hand back under the blanket.

Valen shook his head in amazement. The silence stretched between us and I found myself wishing to fill it, to continue this sharing of stories as long as we could.

"Well, you look good for your age," I said, breaking the silence. My joke surprised a chuckle from him, his blush deepening. "So," I said in hopes of distracting from the blush I felt rising in reply on my own cheeks. "How'd you escape old Grimmy boy?"

His brow twitched into a frown at my words, but he didn't comment on the nickname. "It was… not easy," he said with a grimace at the memory. "I was hardly in any shape to fight anyone."

I'd seen the man fight with a hole in his hand and crushed ribs that had barely given him pause. It must have been some damage that had been done to him, for him to have given up.

"Grimash't held me in one of his towers on a more remote Abyssal plane," he recounted. "He kept many of his… valuables there. I was but one of his possessions on display." He shrugged. "I suppose I should be thankful; it made a very inviting target for attack… which it eventually was."

"Based on the fact that you're alive to tell me this, I take it the tower wasn't attacked by devils?"

He nodded. "It was an outlaw force of tanar'ri, led by another balor. They wanted nothing to do with me. They took everything of value and then tore the building asunder. My cage opened, and I escaped." He smirked. "It was nothing as daring as I suspect you were hoping, but I still had to carve a path for myself out of the Abyss. And Grimash't wasn't about to let me go so easily."

"I would expect nothing less of you," I said with a smile. "What was it like?" I asked after some time. "The Abyss?"

"Infinite," he said with distaste. "Merciless." And then he added; "Purple."

"Purple?"

"Dark purple," he confirmed with a smile.

"So how did you get out of this infinite, merciless world of purple?" I asked him.

"There are ways out of any plane if you know where to look for them," he explained. "Some portals are natural, some placed long ago and forgotten, some new… I was determined to find one, and I did."

He paused at a loud pop of lava in the distance, eyes darting to the gangway as his curved ears twitched for any sign of trouble.

When nothing happened, I nudged his hand with my knee. "So how did you find a portal?"

At the direction of the topic, I was reminded once more of my hopes of him helping me find one back to my world, after all of this.

His eyes returned to me. "A marilith, who was something of a competitor of Grimash't's, agreed to allow me to use her portal to Sigil. It was in exchange," here he stopped short, blushing "...err… in exchange for a favour."

My stomach fluttered. "A favour?" I grinned. "What kind of favour?"

His blush increased and he looked away. "I'd rather not say."

My grin turned wicked, and I couldn't help myself. "Maybe you could show me?" I hurried to add; "After?"

His head snapped back and he unsuccessfully stifled a grin. Quickly, a burst of laughter escaped him. He paused, glancing in our sleeping companion's direction, before covering his mouth. "You're a wicked woman." He smiled, lowering his hand back to my knee. "Which I mean in the best possible way, of course."

I dipped my head, lips pulled up into a smile. "Of course." I could feel the blush creeping up my neck again. "So what happened next?"

"Well, I found my way to your plane," he said. "And spent many years on the surface searching for the Seer," he shook his head at some old memory. "It was no easy task." His eyes found mine. "I'm hoping that — with a guide, this time — my experience in your world will be more enjoyable."

I smiled gently, nodding.

 _Tell him,_ I felt the distant hiss of Enserric in my mind, the sword flashing tellingly from beside my bedroll.  _You're not going to get many clearer opportunities than this._

Valen looked at the silent but glowing sword, and then back to me with a raised eyebrow.

I waved him off dismissively.

We spent the rest of our watch talking about his experiences finding his way to the Underdark and the Seer. He told me story after story of the difficulties he had faced in a world he didn't understand. From helping a party of ill-meaning hobgoblins to a misunderstanding with a paladin which had ended in him having to kill the man.

He would smile at one story and then grimace in shame at the next, recounting his journey as I emphasised with his experiences finding his way in a whole new world.

I found myself nodding along, but ultimately I was unable to reclaim the smile from earlier. The coiling in my gut — and everything that I needed to tell him — hanging between us.

I was almost thankful when it was finally time to wake the others, wishing Valen a quiet goodnight. His hand shifted slightly upward to my thigh and squeezed gently. With a gentle smile, he settled into his own bedroll for the remainder of the night.

My thoughts were so focused on how I was ever going to tell him the truth, that I'd entirely forgotten to keep an eye out for the mimic, which is why I was so damn pissed when the chest-shaped bastard dropped from the rafters above us as I tried to drift off to sleep. It snatching my pack, my folded gloves and pants, and bedroll in one greedy mouthful.

With a burp and a cackle of delight, it zipped away in a flash of brown.

My alarmed cry was quick to startle Deekin from his writing, the sound waking the sleeping tiefling who rushed to my side to check on me.

I brushed him off, reaching for my weapon and jumping to my feet. I took in the room with a hammering heart.

Aribeth was already by my side, armed and on the defence.

I held my bow in a tight grip, but the mimic was nowhere to be seen.

I lowered my bow with a frustrated sigh, before realising suddenly — that with no blanket — my bare legs were on display for the whole room to see.

As warm as the room was in comparison to the outside, goosebumps rose on my exposed skin.

But then again, the blush on mine and Valen's cheeks as he noticed my state of undress was enough to keep us both warm for quite some time after.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_There are some illustrations of varying portals on this double-spread of pages. One is a black disk bordered in yellow sparks, the background a dark green blur of trees. Another is a vortex of colours, surrounded by stone ruins._

_This following is in Jane's messy handwriting:_

**PORTALS**

A portal can only send a person to its destination, not back.

When somebody touches a two-dimensional portal, you're affected by a greater teleportation spell, pre-set to a specific destination. This is why you can't simply stick your head through to see what lies on the other side. Portal hopping — if the creator isn't a trusted source — can be quite dangerous.

**Portals of Note** **:**

**Creature-Only Portals**

What they sound like; only creatures can pass through — clothes and equipment can not.

**Keyed Portals**

POrtals that can only be used if a special condition is met. (Eg: Being a member of a specific race, or it being a certain time.) Keyed portals remain active for only six seconds once activated. Universal Keys, whilst rare, allow the user to activate any keyed portal, without meeting the criteria.

**Impassable Portals**

What they sound like; nobody can pass through — they're simply used as a window into a different destination.

**Nonliving-Only Portals**

All very self-explanatory; nobody can pass through — they're used for nonliving material. Whether undead fall under this category or not is unknown at the time of writing this.

**Random Portals**

They're random in the sense that they will let a random number of people through, but the destination always remains static. The time between allowing one person and the next could be six seconds or six years. Regardless of the randomness of time between uses, apparently the number six is always involved in some way.

**Transparent Portals**

Rare portals, were the destination is visible, removing the fear of misplaced faith.

**Variable Portals**

Portals with more than one set destination. Considered very dangerous. The destination can change according to a pattern (which differs from portal to portal) or at random, depending on how they're created. A common trap laid by those that create portals is that those with the proper key can pass through to their wanted destination, whilst those without could land inside a volcano.

 **TLDR;**  don't use portals, unless you trust the creator.


	32. Chapter 32

Killing the mimic had been more frustrating than difficult. For hours, I'd lead us through the maze of walkways, the Sleeping Man's ring slipping on and off my finger. I'd used the ring's power to zap through physical gates with planar ones, chasing the chest shaped creature as it swung around the room faster than we could follow.

All the while I'd held one hand on my waistband, despite the rope that held them up, Valen's spare linen pants the only item of clothing on hand big enough to replace my temporarily stolen leathers. Aribeth had dared to stage-whisper to Deekin her suspicion that I'd been trying to get into the tiefling's pants this entire time. The bard had thought it hysterical and even Valen had chuckled.

If only she knew how hard I'd been trying in recent days  _not_ to do exactly that! I'd barely been able to meet Valen's eye at her comment

Once safely on the other side of the room — the mimic's scorched remains the main fuel for our fire — a shrivelled old hand had crawled from the ashes, startling even me, before it had crawled into my pack, dormant and waiting. Aribeth had immediately retrieved it.

"It must have been what the mimic had been using to grapple to and from the ceiling," she mused.

She was turning the clawed hand over much to Valen's and my disgust before she placed it back in my pack for safekeeping.

"Careful with that thing," Valen warned me. "It reeks of baatezu."

We set up our bedrolls and slept for what remained of the too-short night, determined that next time we would just take the risk of single watch shifts rather than risk exhaustion. My sleep had been too short to enjoy, despite the warmth, and I'd woken more than once to the sounds of Aribeth pacing, my senses on high alert after my previous rude awakening.

However, my restlessness was nothing in comparison to whatever nightmare Valen was currently experiencing — his face contorted in pain and his fists clenched in his blanket. He'd woken both Deekin and me with his tossing, and — as we shared a knuckle of bread — none of us glanced his way, least of all spoke of it. Aribeth jolted in surprise as Valen tossed to his side with a snarl.

At first, I'd been too fearful to wake him, simply hoping that the noises of us eating would be enough. But, when it became apparent that the dream held him too strongly, I risked a gentle hand on his shoulder. My stance was tense and ready as I whispered his name.

I needn't have been concerned.

He startled in surprise at my touch, hand snaking up to grab my wrist in his own as eyes snapped open. They darted around us before finally landing on me. Despite his surprise, his touch was gentle, and his eyes took only a moment to shift from an angry red to his now-familiar  _almost-_ blue.

He didn't immediately release his hold on me, and I saw his eyes shift to take in my defensive stance, face dropping in hurt. He released my wrist slowly, a small sigh escaping his lips as he threw aside his blanket.

I tried to smile, telling him that it was time to get a move on, before pulling away and preparing myself as much as I could for another cold day of travel. My eyes had remained resolutely everywhere but on the tiefling, as he rolled up his bed in silence.

We had no way of knowing how far it was to the Knower of Places; The Sleeping Man's estimation of  _a couple of days_  questionable, given his ability of flight. We only had enough berries, healing potions and Firewater for a couple of weeks, and it was weighing heavily on us all. I'd done my best to keep an eye out for the telltale leaves of the velox bush peeking through the snow, but had found none beyond the city's walls — the wastes of Cania too cold for even the hardy native plant.

Without a word — everyone already all too aware of the dangers that lay ahead — I placed the ring on my finger.

We stepped through the portal hand-in-hand, the cold blasting us as soon as we were through and everything red turning impossibly white, the only bright colour the magical path ahead, which ran directly through the river of lava.

The portal snapped out of existence, and I took off the ring, taking in our new surroundings silently.

"Wonderful," Valen mused.

He walked in a circle, taking in the molten river. It surrounded us on all sides. Deekin scratched his head with a confused frown.

Worrying at my lip, I pulled out the shrivelled hand with distaste, barely touching its dried skin with my thumb and forefinger. I held it as far away from me as possible, dropping it on the floor in front of us with a solid  _thunk._ As it touched the cold snow, it clenched into a tight fist.

"Shit, that's gross," I hissed, before looking around at my companions. "Anyone want to go first?"

Aribeth had begrudgingly offered up the first attempt at using the magical hand's grappling abilities, holding the bone that protruded from the wrist's stump with a grimace. She pointed it to the other side of the river and — after only a moment of uncertainty, as we all waited for it to do something — it reached out in a flash of red.

She was pulled along after it with a cry of surprise.

On the other side, she fell to her knees with a gasp, the hand still and dormant by her side.

It took longer than I would have expected for the paladin to collect herself.

Once she was ready to try again, she came back; grabbing Deekin in her arms and doing it all over. Her next time back to us she didn't look quite so sickly, and she pressed herself to Valen's side. He took the clawed hand from her and used it to cross together. Taking a moment to grab his bearings, he came back a final time for me.

We both blushed as I pressed myself to him, his arms wrapping nervously around my shoulders as he held me tight. He was as warm as I remembered, even out here.

I tucked my face against his chest, both to avoid the view and to hide my reddening cheeks, and held on for dear life. As the world fell away — my stomach left behind — I quickly forgot to be self-conscious of how close we were.

When we landed, I doubled-over, retching in the snow; cheeks blushing darker with embarrassment.

Some hours later, we came across the first signs of old ruins, lead there by the ring. We climbed through the remains of the almost entirely reclaimed town, blindly following the red glowing path.

When we could walk no more, we scattered three velox berries over what remained of a felled beam — the timber damp and rotten with age. It was easy enough to light despite the harsh winds, and we all huddled around it in an attempt to stave off the cold, eating our meagre dinner in silence. Before assigning shifts, Valen built a wall of snow with Aribeth — parallel to the remaining half-wall of stone — the barrier helping divert some of the freezing wind.

We barely spoke before settling down for the night.

When I woke the next morning, I was surprised to find my back pressed up against Valen's own, only our blankets between us. My teeth had been chattering, body shaking and my hands clenched firmly between my thighs in an attempt to keep them from dropping off. But my back? That had been blissfully warm.

I'd been mortified at first, but felt a little better when I noticed Deekin had curled up, after his shift, at Valen's feet — his blanket tucked up almost entirely over his head — just as intent on stealing the tiefling's warmth as I had apparently been.

The following night I didn't have the excuse of sleep. When my watch was finally over, I pushed my back up against Valen's own after only a moment of hesitation, immediately thankful for his warmth.

I felt him stiffen for a couple of seconds, before he shifted slightly, his tail curling into a more comfortable position between us.

Thankfully, he didn't say anything.

I closed my eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the steady thrum of Aribeth's whetstone on her sword. I was almost asleep, when — barely a few minutes later — my breath caught as Valen reached behind him, pulling his blanket further across so that it covered both of us. His breath on my neck sent a shiver through me, as he adjusted the two blankets.

My heart thumped so loudly that I'm sure he must have heard it before he'd settled back down with a tired sigh. He didn't say anything about it the following day, retreating further into his thoughts as we continued our relentless march across the almost completely barren wastes.

The day saw us drinking more of the Firewater than any of the past as the wastes grew colder, and the once easy conversation was all but dead in an attempt to preserve energy.

The only thing worse than the neverending cold was the impossibly bland boringness of slogging through one white expanse of snow and the next, each planar gate leading us into another area that looked just as bland as the last.

The monotony of the day was probably why I was so damn surprised when one such portal led us right into a cave alight with the flames of a controlled fire.

Five faces peered at us in surprise over the flames.

"Oh, fuck," I swore as I suddenly realised where we were. And who we were dealing with.

If  _we_  looked a sight, the group in front of us was weirder still.

 _This is going to be a variable salad of flavours_ , Enserric mused from his place on my back. My fingers twitched to draw him.

Around the fire stood an intimidating mismatch of people. Of them was an undead lich — bare-boned face frozen in a permanent smile. A monstrous minotaur — the first of his kind that I'd ever laid eyes on, horns and tusks stained yellow with age. A dwarf with impossibly thick arms — head and body shaved and dressed in the style of a monk with a chain of bones around his neck. A slight human woman with an eyepatch as dark as her close-cropped hair— her pale body more ink than skin. And a hulking human man — shaved head tattooed with long winding stripes of red, heavy plate armour designed similarly to Aribeth's own. They all had the unhealthy pallor of spirits, their bodies fading in and out of focus.

The apparent leader of the fearsome group — the sturdy dwarven man — circled around the fire, watching us all with cold dead eyes.

Valen growled low in his throat, hand on his weapon, and — close by his side — Deekin had already drawn his crossbow, eyes darting between myself and the group.

Aribeth gasped in surprise, frozen in place.

"I recognise this spirit!" she hissed to me in warning. "Grimgnaw; he helped save Neverwinter." Her eyes searched the group, wide and fearful. "…and Maugrim! What are you doing here?"

Grimgnaw crossed his arms over his barrel of a chest, an eyebrow raised as he considered all of us. His eyes landed and held on Valen, lips pulling up in a sinister smile.

The armour plated man, Maugrim, threw his head back, laughing cruelly. He stepped away from the fire.

"Aribeth!" he said in greeting. "Our paths cross once again. You will be relieved to know that I no longer follow Morag and the Old Ones." His smile was crooked, his teeth yellow with rot. "We have much loftier ambitions." He held his hands wide, motioning to his companions.

"With Mephistopeheled gone, there's a void that must be filled." Grimgnaw mused, voice a low rumble. "This plane of hell needs someone to rule it."

I took a steadying step back, planting my feet.

"We're just passing through." I paused, clearing my throat, raspy with disuse, before raising it louder. "Do what you want with the hells. We won't stop you."

I felt Aribeth bristle by my side, face hard and set.

I sighed.  _Well,_ _she_   _might._

Grimgnaw slowly shook his head, rolling his shoulders. "No. Word of your presence has already reached us, even here." He shrugged. "We're afraid we cannot simply let this opportunity to remove you from the equation pass us by." He tilted his head, eyes holding my own. "I'm sure you understand?"

Too late I realised that the woman from earlier was no longer by the fire, and I cried out as her blade found purchase in my side. I twisted away, my automatic reflexes the only reason the blade didn't sink into my spine.

I pushed through the pain as the room erupted into chaos all around us, drawing Enserric sluggishly.

I smelt the acidic stench of arcane spells and felt the heat of Aribeth's god as she channelled his cleansing power through her, light bearing down on our enemies. And I heard the bestial roar of Valen; the sound more demonic than human.

One hand clutched to my side and the other on my sword, I spun in a circle, searching desperately for the woman.

I suddenly realised, with no small amount of surprise, that — without little Deekin looking out for me — my companions would have been using the last charge of our resurrection rod on me, right then and there.

With a surprised gasp, the assassin fell from the shadows beside me, her blade raised to strike. Deekin's dark bolt stuck from her forehead, a small trail of blood dripping from the fatal wound. She fell to the floor in a heap, and — with no time to second-guess myself — I charged ahead to help Valen.

The tiefling was engaged with the monk, the shorter of who was peppering his armour with small jabs of his glowing hands.

Each hit found purchase, a darting of movement almost too fast for me to follow. Valen should have been on the defensive, but he wasn't thinking; swinging his flail again and again, pushing through the pain, his mind only on the kill.

A jab in his side, and Valen spluttered through a roar, doubling over himself.

I attempted to cleave Grimgnaw's head from his shoulders, but he easily ducked below the attack — expecting it — and pushed closer to the tiefling, face set in concentration.

The flail wasn't right for the fight, the reach wrong for the monk's fighting style, and with each hit Valen took, he swung his weapon that little bit slower.

Another jab and Valen's armour shifted, the overlapping plates of metal catching and holding, his movement suddenly limited. A sweep of his feet, and he was scrambling for purchase, tail flung out for balance. Another hit to his side and his hands slackened between one swing of his flail and the next, the heavy weapon falling between them with a clang.

Eyes wide, I attempted a swing at the dwarf's exposed side. My attack — whilst too slow to catch the impossibly quick monk off guard — forced Grimgnaw to retreat.

Valen snarled through the rage and pain, my interference all the distraction that he needed.

He lunged at the dwarf, head lowered into the tackle. His horns caught the monk in the chin in a splash of blood. The bastard was quick, but when Valen straightened, even he wasn't quick enough to pull himself loose.

I grimaced in pain as the dwarf's jaw was ripped right from his face with a horrible wet ripping sound — cutting his scream off as the blood splashed across Valen's snarling face. Without pause, the tiefling pulled the flailing monk loose, tossing him aside with barely any effort. The dwarf skidded for a moment, before hitting the nearby wall. Valen tossed something at him, which I realised with a roiling stomach was the monk's missing jaw.

I moved to finish him off, but Deekin was already on it; peppering the still twitching body with two bolts shot in quick succession. The kobold quickly returned his attention back to the remaining minotaur, who Aribeth was currently baiting.

She circled the great hulking beast, sword raised and on the defence. Between them, she held up a glowing hand, her god's overwhelming power evening the odds.

I gulped at the sight, dropping Enserric and drawing my bow in one practised motion.

_No way I was getting near that thing!_

The minotaur swung its great axe in a downward swipe. Aribeth sidestepped in a surprising shoe of speed, before swinging her own sword down on his fingers. He roared, pulling one of his hands away in pain as he lifted the weapon sloppily with the other.

I lined up my shot but didn't get far, crying out in surprise as my side lit up in pain. I pressed a hand to my side, dropping the arrow and biting my cheek.

The minotaur took another swing at Aribeth.

I hissed, forcing myself to pull my blood-slicked hand away and drawing another arrow. This time I was ready for the pain, but I still couldn't draw my bow to its full potential.

I was dimly aware of Valen beside me as he reached down, pulling one of the destroyed plates of his armour lose with a snarl. I glanced at him as he twisted his body, testing his returned mobility.

Blood stained his face, the whites around his red pupils as stark as his feral smile.

He didn't bother reclaiming his flail, charging towards the minotaur with a roar.

I swore, releasing my half-drawn arrow and catching the minotaur in the chest. The arrow held, causing the creature to roar in frustration, but it didn't sink as deep as it should have.

I didn't get the opportunity to fire again, as Valen got right in the way of any potential shot from Deekin or I. The battle rage wasn't anything new, but the carelessness wasn't like him at all.

"Shit!" I threw my bow aside, drawing a knife and reaching for Enserric.

Valen flung himself at the minotaur's weapon, grabbing hold and launching himself off the chest of the far bigger creature. He ripped the axe from the enemy's grip, giving Aribeth all the opening she needed.

Cool and in control of every movement, the paladin stabbed her sword through the bare chest of the mighty beast, striking true.

He gasped, a great snorting thing, before falling forward just as Aribeth let go. She stepped back, immediately sweeping the room with narrowed eyes. The minotaur didn't move.

Only once she was sure our enemies were all dead, did she allow her exhaustion to show in the dropping of her shoulders.

I was quick to follow, landing heavily on my knees as I struggled to assess the damage to my side.

"Boss!"

Deekin skidded to me, an open potion already in his little clawed hands as he pushed it to my face. I spluttered in surprise, before taking it off of him, drinking greedily.

The effects of healing potions always surprised me in their speed.

I breathed through the pain, Deekin holding me upright as Aribeth busied herself heaving the great hairy body of the minotaur onto its side. She drew her weapon free with a grim shake of her head.

Valen hadn't moved, his shoulders hunched and body shaking with each heaving breath. His back was all we could see of him as he collected himself.

Aribeth kept her distance from the tiefling, and — once her sword was by her side once more — she stooped to collect his flail, before coming to mine and Deekin's side. With steely eyes, she assessed me, smiling gently.

I worried at my lips as the seconds ticked by into minutes, with still no movement from him.

Aribeth distracted me by laying her hand on my forehead, fingers neither warm nor cold, and her touch featherlight. She closed her eyes, muttering a prayer, and I felt the last of the burning in my side disappear with a wave of comforting warmth.

I looked back over at Valen at his sudden movement, to see he was wiping his face with the palm of his hands, tail flicking behind him once more. His face was still smeared with red when he turned to us, his armour a mess of broken parts, and his hand clasped lightly to his side as he searched the room for something.

His eyes eventually landed on the three of us, and I saw his shoulders relax, eyes a hazy mix of blue and red.

"Is everyone alright?" He asked, voice a low growl.

His eyes landed on me and held, eyes drifting to my side and widening at the blood he saw.

"We're okay. I'm okay," I assured him with a flat smile. "Are  _you_?" I asked him carefully, searching his armour and trying to assess the full extent of the damage.

He nodded once, belied a moment later as he moved to approach us and paused, grimacing in pain. He didn't need any convincing to finish off one of his potions.

"It would be best if we stayed here tonight," he told us, already removing more of his damaged armour's plating.

We all agreed, Valen and Aribeth attending to their armour and weapons as Deekin and I had the grisly task of removing everything of value from the bodies. We piled the five of them in a small alcove with Valen's help, as far from the fire as possible, before settling around the blazing fire.

I had the first watch and Valen the second.

My shift passed uneventfully, and I was thankful for the boredom.

Valen was already awake when I went to touch his shoulder, pulling back his blanket and stretching. He didn't say anything, the easy conversation of the mimic's lair was something of the distant past, as I settled back to sleep.

I was more than a little surprised when he moved his bedroll to be closer to mind once his shift was done, the movement waking me. He got comfortable lying on his side and shirting his blankets. But then, very tentatively, he shifted back, so his back was pressed to mine — just as I had done the night before — despite the current heat of the fire.

His breathing didn't take long to even out.

Sleep found me easier after that, his warmth lulling me into a dream of warm sands and clear blue skies.

The fading dream of happiness was probably why I was in such a foul mood the next day when we were greeted by more puzzle rooms like the mimic's lair, lava popping all around us.

It was yet another day of pulling the ring off and on, off and on — with swearing than I think I'd ever done in my life — as we zapped to and from platform to platform with the shrivelled hand come magical grappling hook. I emptied my stomach more than once, much to my embarrassment.

But it was all eventually worth it, because the following day, we finally found the Knower of Places.

All I wished was that she could have teleported us somewhere other than the middle of a battle between demons and devils.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The following is in Jane's handwriting. The first name is written in a slightly different colour of ink than the others, presumably written at a different point in time. It has been crossed out and re-written in multiple attempts at getting the correct spelling._

**True Names**

~~Okastine the Demonwrestler~~

~~Oskathine the Demonwrestler~~

Oeskathine the Demonwrestler

Hecugoth the Abandoned

Va'ardalia the Twinsouled

Pyreshi the Knower

Thra'axfyl the Ambitious


	33. Chapter 33

I looked down at the huge slumped balor with a distasteful grimace. Despite the enemy, we were fairly well off, and all I had to show for the fight was a few nasty bruises across my arms and sides; injuries that would have killed me in an instant had I attained them in my true form and not that of the earth elemental.

I'd shifted into the hulking stone elemental as soon as we'd seen the latest guardian, charging ahead and outpacing Valen with my massive steps.

I'd purposefully placed myself between the tiefling and the devil, taking the brunt of the damage and forcing the entirety of the balor's focus on me. I'd peppered him with punches as Aribeth had weakened him from afar. Her god's light had burned the devil's flesh, which was now a mess of boils and sludge that was too disgusting to look at. As we'd fought, Valen had been frustrated, shouting something non-too-flattering at me. But, thankfully, his anger hadn't been nearly as bad as it had been in recent fights. And — despite Valen being less involved than he would have liked — we'd made fairly quick work of the giant devil; my new form and Aribeth's divine spells making for an efficient team.

"I'd happily go the rest of my life without seeing another of these," I said, landing a swift kick to the balor's side. I scrunched up my face as the tip of my boot came away sticky.

"You and me both," Aribeth agreed between one ragged breath and the next.

Valen's eyes danced dangerously between blue and red as he dragged his eyes away from the felled devil. His eyes were hard, his focus on m, and for a moment, it seemed as if he were about to say something. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again. I didn't say anything, watching the war of emotions play across his features. Eventually, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and dropping his shoulders. When he opened them again, the frustration — whilst still there — no longer seemed as if it was directed at me.

I didn't realise I'd been holding my breath until he placed his flail back on his hip. I released a sigh, one that was both relieved and exhausted.

Hard as it was to keep time, I suspected a little over a day had passed since the close call with Grimgnaw and his friends. From there, our journey had continued through a labyrinth of rooms and tunnels. It was all laid out like a puzzle, one that had dwarfed the mimic's lair in both size and difficulty.

To top it all off, travel had proven dangerous. None of us had dared to sleep, subjected to the constant and unnerving risk of falling into the platform's surrounding lava. We'd been forced to continue travelling across the tiny floating islands in search of the exit, each island too small to rest, let alone sit.

Valen had been silent, keeping his distance as much as the tiny islands had allowed, eyes always downcast in an attempt to hide the ever-growing flecks of red in his eyes. Each time Aribeth or I had been required to cross the lava with him, he'd tensed up; face tight with something akin to pain.

Wiping the sticky what-ever-the-hell-it-was from my boot, I insisted on a couple of hours to recuperate, despite Valen's restlessness. Deekin had been all too happy to flop to the floor in a heap, head resting on his crossed arms and bum in the air. The little kobold closed his eyes with a sigh.

Valen and Aribeth kept as much distance as they could from the fallen devil's corpse as I'd attempted to make myself comfortable. My back had been resting against my pack, as I rested my eyes and listening to the sound of Valen's tail swishing and Aribeth's pacing.

An hour ticked by and then another, and — once I could wait no more — I packed up and woke Deekin.

Now, at the apparent end of the maze, we were rewarded with yet another planar door.

"If this doesn't take us to the Knower of Places," I said. "Then I quit."

Deekin grasped his little claws around my wrist as Aribeth, with her hand on my upper arm, gave me a nod. Beside her, Valen was the last one through, his hand on the kobold's shoulder.

On the other side, we found ourselves in a dark hall filled with a kaleidoscope of lights and colours. Images flickered over the walls constantly — like a kid's nightlight gone wild. As I watched, each picture showed us beautiful vistas and alien cities, the likes of which I had never seen before.

I lifted a hand to touch one such city — with a skyline of glass buildings that could only come from my homeworld — but an image was all it was. The city rippled beneath my fingers.

The others were as amazed as I, quiet with wonder as we watched the scenes shift and change before our eyes.

"Sigil?" Valen suddenly whispered in wistful recognition.

My eyes snapped to the image that had drawn his full attention.

The city was massive, with hundreds of buildings that were all crowded around a reaching spire, impossibly tall for a world without cranes. The sky was — inexplicably — the skyline of  _more_  buildings, all turned on their head.

I frowned, trying to make heads or tails of what I was looking at.

Valen noticed, his smile warm when he said; "The image does not do it justice."

I was reminded again of our promise of  _after_ with a stab of guilt.

He sighed. "I look forward to seeing it again." His eyes searched for mine. "But I admit, it is feeling more and more like a pipedream."

I managed a smile, small though it was. "We'll get there," I promised him.

The vision suddenly changed to a more rural scene. Aribeth gasped, pushing gently past Valen.

"That's our tree!" The paladin paused, seeming to remember herself. "It's where Fenthick and I first kissed…" She sighed. "Gods, but I was so innocent then."

We walked slowly down the length of the hall, strolling past scene after scene.

"That be Deekin's home away from home!" The kobold exclaimed proudly, pointing at a cave that looked just like any other. "Well, when he nots be following Boss towards certain death." He frowned. "Or  _dead_ dead."

Despite my exhaustion, I felt my lips twist into a brief smile.

Then, with a sudden jolt of recognition, I was drawn to one of the many new images.

It was the view from my decking; the far-off suburbs peeking out from between the trees. It was a view I would recognise anywhere, one I'd admired as we ate dinner on the deck every night, before the chill of Autumn would chased us back inside. My breath caught but — instead of the tears I'd feared — a smile pulled at my lips once more.  _I could practically smell the barbeque…_

I felt Valen's presence by my side as he observed the simple yet beautiful view in silence. The back of his knuckles rubbed against my own, and I felt the heat of his gaze.

Interrupting our thoughts, a new voice spoke; feminine and lilting. We were no longer alone in the hall.

I spun to face the owner of the voice, fingers pulling from Valen's tentatively reaching grasp.

"You're here at last!" She exclaimed in delight.

I was immediately floored by her alien beauty.

The first time I'd seen an elf — Drogan's Harper colleague, Ayala — I'd been similarly speechless. At the sight of the Knower, I was struck again by how little of this world — and those in it — I'd seen.

The Knower of Places represented a human only in shape; with huge black eyes, multifaceted like a bug. She was tall and willowy, skin alabaster white. On her back fluttered four overlapping wings, each with their own unique pattern of glassy greens.

I heard Valen's surprised intake at the sight of her, and I forced myself not to turn a raised eyebrow.

 _Jealous?_ Enserric mused with a chuckle.

"Tired of waiting, are you, planetar?" She asked me with a gentle half-smile. "Twice now, you have come to me, yet my answer remains the same."

I could feel my companion's stunned confusion.

"I am not the planetar," I explained to her carefully.

She paused. "Why would you deny who you are?" she asked, clearly disappointed. "You may not have his skin or his wings, but you wear his ring." The Knower reached for my hand.

I pulled out of her reach, noting the hurt pinching of her face at my rejection.

"The ring belongs to the Sleeping Man," Valen explained. "He lent it to us."

"Boss be nothing like pretty angelman," Deekin piped up helpfully.

The Knower's wings batted furiously as she considered my companions. Eventually, her eyes found mine once more. Her thin white lips were pursed in distaste.

"The ring speaks the truth," she insisted. "It fits you perfectly; even though you crafted it for the woman you wait for." She pushed through the breaking of her voice. "Come, let us talk awhile, as we did once before. You may ask me anything you wish... except for more questions of  _where_.  _That_ you have already asked."

I sighed, pulling the ring carefully from my finger and watching the poor woman's face drop in realisation.

At last, she finally and  _truly_  looked at me.

"Oh." She sighed, nodding her head in resignation. "Whether love was in his heart or not, it was a pretty wish to think he would come back to me." She blinked her glassy black eyes rapidly. When she spoke again, her voice sounded flat, bereft of the innocent hope that had lined it before. "What is it you would asks of me, stranger? You may have more than one question, but one answer is all I can give."

I opened my mouth, the words dying on my lips. I wished nothing more than to ask her where I would find a portal home.

But, to find it, I needed to get out of Cania  _first_.

I pushed through the pang of uncertainty. "We seek the Knower of Names," I said.

And so she told us where her sister would be, merging the Sleeping Man's ring with another so that it would now lead us to the Knower of Names when worn.

"Go now." She waved a hand, her wings fluttering in irritation. "Leave me, so that I may forget about you, the way he has forgotten about me."

She opened a portal for us, white snow with a dusty pink horizon all we could see of the other side. Exhausted, but with nothing left to say, we funneled through, side-by-side, hands on our weapons.

It took me only a few disoriented moments to realise that she'd dumped us right in the middle of one of the bloodiest skirmishes I'd ever seen.

We had row seats to the Blood Wars.

I barely had time to deny the truth of it; my fleeting thought of 'we don't land right in the  _middle_  of the fight in the game!' inconsequential.

As the sights and sounds of the bloody battle assaulted us, we didn't even have time to consider turning back, the portal snapping shut with resounding finality.

I drew Enserric, hearing the telltale ring of Aribeth's own sword and Deekin's crossbow being loaded.

I glanced nervously to the tiefling by my side.

Valen was frozen in place, staring all around us in slack-jawed disbelief.

All around, the snow was crimson mush, devils and demons alike bleeding into the ground from massive slashes and gouges. The air was hazy with smoke, fed by the long dead torches scattered throughout the battlefield. I stared at the writhing mass of beings locked in combat and I gaped at a charging group as they pushed back against a wall of armed soldiers with a unified roar of rage and pain. I tried to tell the difference, spotting the occasional creature I knew to be a devil or demon, but in the chaos they mainly looked the same.

It shamed me to realise I could easily imagine Valen as just another foot soldier in this never ending war, lost to his demonic nature and looking only to the next fight.

A screech pierced through the sounds of battle and the haze of my surprise.

"Move!" Valen roared, shoving me aside.

I leant into it, forced to drop Enserric as I dove out of the way.

And just in time.

I barely avoided the downward stab of a giant spider's blade-like foot — a  _bebelith_ my frantic brain warned me. Five more armour-plated legs followed the first, sinking into the snow all around, staining the white with pops of red.

It screeched again, a horrible sound like fingers on a black board.

I jumped between its forest of legs, ducking and weaving and doing my very best to not be skewered.

I had no time to wonder how the others fared.

I drew one of my knives, the small weapon barely scratching the creature's hard-shelled legs with each pass.

Another leg stabbed the snow, inches from my face and I skidded to a halt, a shout dying in my throat.

Slashing out wildly, the knife caught between the plating.

It pulled from my grip. I left it.

I fell back into the snow just as another bladed leg cut down in front of me.

Scrambling back, I gasped in relief at Valen's roar

His flail connected with the leg, the creature's angered screech ringing in my ears as it turned its attention to the tiefling.

Drawing my bow, I backed away, my sole focus on keeping Valen safe from other's attention, as he brought down the massive demonic spider. As he fought, devils and demons alike began turning to try the demon half-blood fighting his own side. My arrows flew true into the heart of any that dared to come close to him.

The bebelith gave a final bloody screech, and — before the creature's massive torso even hit the ground — Valen was turning. He barely considered his surroundings, before rushing a small vrock with a roar. It turned too late from its engagement with a massive blue devil to do anything. Its eyes widened in surprise, wings flapping uselessly, as Valen's flail connected with its stomach. He kicked it back with a grunt of effort, immediately charging the blue devil.

With sinking horror I realised that more heads were turning his way, eyes narrowing as they considered the tiefling fighting both devil and demon alike. They started closing in, forcing me back as the head of my arrow darted from shape to shape in desperation.

There were too many of them.

"Valen!" I shouted frantically.

But, either he didn't hear me, or — more likely — he didn't care. They fell on him with hisses and roars of anger, and I caught a glimpse of his face as he spun, flail knocking multiple enemies off their feet and forcing them back.

He was smiling.

I was forced to leave him; their numbers too great, the enemy too close. There was nothing I could do, just me and my bow.

The rest of the fight was a frantic blur.

Desperately fighting back stragglers, Deekin and I eventually found each other, relief flooding my system to see him still intact. We killed anyone that came too close, firing into devils and demons alike, back-to-back and watching each other's six. His singsong humm cut through the shrill wind and bestial shouts, giving me something to focus on over the rising panic.

I don't know how long passed before Aribeth carved a path to our side, sword just as bloody as her armour. Once she found us, she didn't stray, keeping the bulk of the horde away from us, face grim as she swapped between fighting the swarms and healing herself.

Every few minutes we would hear a familiar roar and catch the faraway glint of emerald armour, but — for a long time — those were the only signs that Valen still lived.

Eventually, the horde started thinning, the time between each wave increasing. We followed Valen's path slowly and carefully, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

He felled devil and demon alike, carving a path of destruction through the bloody battlefield. There was no goal or logic to it. Only the need for blood.

Devils and demons screamed in pain, clutching their grievous wounds as my bow twanged, sending snakes of death into what felt like a neverending army. All around, the wind blasted us furiously as the frigid cold continued, unaffected by the chaos of the aptly named Blood Wars.

I stopped only when I had no more arrows left, Deekin having used all of his bolts long ago, and Aribeth her divine spells.

Impossibly, we were still alive when the bulk of the armies were not, most having either retreated through summoned portals or dead or dying on Cania's snow. It was there that I finally came back to myself, peripheral sounds and sights returning to me.

Looking around, I realised with sudden understanding that the sky had not been dusty pink, as it had appeared through the portal. It was simply the once white snow, stained with blood as far as the eye could see.

We stood on a ridge, fearfully watching Valen finish the last of the army's stragglers.

He chased them down, one-by-one with a look that swung from pure rage to unhinged bliss.

He dove at a tiefling, crimson red spraying his face as he tore a chunk of his throat away. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. As he pulled away, licking his lips, I realised — were it not for his bright emerald armour — I would hardly recognise him from any of the other demonic half-breeds we'd fought and killed today.

His flail flung left and right, each blow connecting with a horned head, a snake-like torso, a red throat. More blood stained his armour as he tore his flail from one devil's neck and swung it across the face of another.

He revelled in the destruction, his dance as mesmerising as it was terrifying and his flail was an extension of his body. Watching him like this, I couldn't imagine an enemy that could stand against him.

The wind howled, merging with the cries of those whose deaths were nearing.

I saw his lips twist upwards in a bitter smile as he considered some of the still twitching bodies. As he stalked the battlefield, he felled any who dared cry out in pain. I heard the word 'betrayer' hissed from one demon's lips as it carried on the wind, followed by the wet thud of Valen's flail.

Wasting no time, he stalked towards another devil, eyes intent, lips pulled back in a grimaced snarl.

The devil reached out a barbed arm, wicked clawed fingers grasping at the bloody snow as it tried to rise. Its yellow eyes were full of pain and anger.

My stomach clenched in recognition. Everything else fell away.

I broke out at a run, leaving a stunned Aribeth and Deekin behind as I morphed into the earth elemental.

The transition was slower than last time, my exhaustion making it almost impossible but for my desperation. The added speed of my hulking form carried me away from the warning cries of my companions as they scrambled to keep up. My massive feet stomped through the snow and bodies alike.

Valen paused, head snapping up at the sound of my pounding footsteps.

He braced for an attack, digging his feet into the ground. A wicked smile lit up his face, the look dropping into confusion as I veered away from him.

I rushed towards the devil, skidding to my knees and ignoring the sting of pain as I shifted back into my true form.

I levelled a knife at the devil's throat.

"Who are you?" I screamed over the wind, tears flooding my eyes as I pressed the weapon harder against its throat.

It blinked at me in surprise and I pressed harder. My eyes darted consciously to the devil's clawed hands.

Though I was exhausted, bleeding, bruised — my muscles were still hardened and strong from over a year of training and fighting.

And — stronger still — was my sheer bloody will to  _survive_.

I twisted aside just as the weapon came down on the spot I'd been kneeling and I gasped as I felt the rush of air as it almost took my head off.

The flail head thudded into the devil with a wet thump. Blood sprayed into the air, the creature's low groan the last sound it made.

I darted away, sweat-soaked hair hanging in my eyes as I pulled my knife up desperately.

Valen turned.

He was breathing hard, tail lashing angrily. Blood and gore dripped from the flail's heads, splashing at his feet.

I saw his eyes flash in recognition, his weapon lowering ever so slightly. "Emma," he said. But his voice was a feral snarl, a mockery of his usual low timbre.

My eyes darted to just over his shoulder, to Deekin and Aribeth's small forms as they attempted the snowy ridge as quickly as they safely could. They were still too far away.

I tightened my grip on my knife.

He threw aside his flail, his weapon landing on top of the dead devil with a thud. He tilted his head and smiled, throwing his hands wide to show he was unarmed, but the action didn't bring me any comfort.

I swallowed at the fiery red detachment in his eyes, my heart hammering in my chest.

Between one breath and the next, he charged.

His shadow swooped across me as I slashed out wildly; my own need for survival pushing aside any thoughts for the man beneath the demon.

He battered my knife aside, snarling as I opened up a cut along his hand as he forced it from my grip. And then he was on me.

Wind rushed out of my lungs as I fell. My vision erupted in light as my back sunk into the snow, his weight pushing me deeper again and forcing the last of the air from me.

I gasped desperately, pushing against his weight with my knees. He forced them aside, locking his legs against mine with a chuckle that set my hair on end.

I tried to kick, buck. But he was too heavy, too strong.

"Valen," I gasped desperately through one pained gasp and the next.

I scratched his face, forcing his head back as my fingers found purchase. He grabbed at my wrists in his hands with a snarl, pulling them above my head with one hand and dropping more of his weight onto me.

I pushed my head aside, unable to bring myself to look at the swirling red of his eyes. The weight of him above me forced my face deeper into the snow. I felt his too hot breath on my cheek, each of his breaths coming out hard and short. Tears welled in my eyes as I desperately searched the bloody battlefield for my companions.

His knee found purchase between my legs, pushing.

At my resistance and desperate bucking he pushed his wrist harder on my throat, snow crunching beneath me. My vision erupted in a flash of whiteness, and — for one horrible moment — a shrill ringing overrode his deep growl, chasing away all thoughts. I forced myself to gasp in what air I could, fighting the growing darkness encroaching on my vision.

_Fight! Live!_

I clenched my eyes shut against the feeling of his searching hands and hissed as his teeth found purchase on my throat.

I couldn't move. I couldn't fight. As his teeth dug deeper and deeper, his hands lower and lower, I couldn't do anything but cry out.

So I did.

"Oeskathine," I wheezed, gasping in desperately for air. "Oeskathine the Demonwrestler…"

Between one panicked thud of my heart and the next, I feared I'd gotten his true name — the only name I knew — wrong.

But then his whole body went rigid, his breath coming out hard and fast against my burning throat.

It was all the opportunity I needed.

I pulled my knee up, catching him in the groin as I shouted my first command.

"Stop!"

And everything went still.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_The scribbling on the page is Jane's recognisable writing style, mainly revolving around the use of True Names. The page is a mess of contradictory thoughts and fears, along with potential uses for different people's true names._

_Underlined beneath it all is the following sign-off;_

...But should a True Name be used to change someone?


	34. Chapter 34

I don't remember passing out. But I must have, to be waking up now.

Everything was foggy, the sounds far away. The cold was no surprise… everything was always so fucking cold.  _Why couldn't there be a tropical hell?_

I was swaddled in blankets, lying on my back on the cold packed snow. I could hear the crackling of a fire, the shifting of my companions. They were safe. We were safe.

I let the sounds wash over me, content to wake slowly — but,  _why did everything hurt so much_? I groaned as something pulled on my neck sharply, skin burning.  _Why_ had  _I passed out?_

And then my eyes snapped open, and I remembered.

_His teeth dug deeper and deeper, his hands everywhere._

_Valen_.

I sat up, blankets falling around my waist, wind howling all around. For a moment I was struck by panic, the thundering of my heart all that I could hear. I blinked my eyes once, twice; blinding white light everywhere.

No, not light; snow _. Always snow._

We were huddled in the nook of an old building, two half-collapsed walls to protect us against the wastes of Cania. I was sitting in the corner of the joined walls, the fire between me and the never ending whiteness.

And on the other side of the flames was Valen.

I froze.

He watched me with an unreadable blankness. Sitting, arms crossed atop his knees and back hunched. He picked absentmindedly at his nails, horrible red eyes unblinking as he considered me.

My breath caught, my whole body tensing up. But then the wind howled and the fire shuddered under the barrage of cold air and I saw that his eyes weren't red at all. They were a hazy blue; red flecks reflecting the burning flames tenfold. My breathing returned to normal, but my heart still clenched painfully in my chest.

"Shit," I groaned.

I raised one hand against the glare, the other to my pinching neck. Instead of skin, I found bandages covering the fresh injury — Valen's mark. I pulled my hand away, recognising the faint smell of a powerful healing potion, feeling the light tingle of it on my neck. I blinked across the fire as the hazy fog cleared from my mind bit by bit, my hand dropping slowly.

Deekin was prodding the popping red embers with an old wand, and at my glance he attempted a nervous smile across the flames. He was rugged up, under more than just his own blanket, but the shadowing bulk couldn't hide the fresh bruises on his snout, around his eyes from our battle with the demons and devils.

Aribeth was even worse off. What she still wore of her armour was covered in sticky dark blood, and one of her eyes were shot through with red. She pushed herself up with a groan, hobbling carefully to my side. Placing a hand gently to my shoulder, she grabbed my chin, tilting it.

"Let me see," she insisted at my stiff resistance to the painful movement.

I hissed as she pried away the bandage, the cold air making the injury sting afresh. She tutted before re-covering it, silently passing me a potion to help the healing along.

As I sipped at it, I felt the soreness of my muscles subside. I felt the deep, dull throbbing in my ribs — which I hadn't even noticed with the painful burning on my neck — lessen. The thumping in my head faded. My muscles relaxed. I sighed through my last sip, eyes drooping in exhaustion as my body was forced to repair faster than strictly natural.

When I opened them again, Valen was still watching me. As I took him in, memories of his attack all came flooding back. I shivered, pulling the blanket higher up my body. Leaning forward on his haunches, his face was a careful mask. Eyes roamed over my bandaged throat and back again, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"How did you do it?" he asked.

… _do it?_ I frowned.  _Did he not remember?_ I felt my heart flutter before glancing nervously at Aribeth.

"How did you stop me?" His voice broke, eyes landing on my throat once more. "I would have…" he forced the words out with a grimace. "I would have killed you."

I swallowed hard, feeling his words like a punch to the stomach. I closed my eyes against the memory of his snarling face, his too-red eyes.

"I nearly did," he breathed.

I drew a deep breath, feeling all three sets of eyes on me. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth, the words stuck in my throat.

"I…" I paused.

Looking into his eyes I saw the agony there; the pain and self-loathing he had been trying so hard to hide. I saw how unfair the world was, and how well this man knew it.

He dragged his eyes away and turned to the fire. Fiery red hair draped his pale features as he hung his head.

I'd expected Valen to press, his trust in me having only been so recently earned. But it was Aribeth who eventually demanded the truth, her voice unwavering.

"What aren't you telling us, Emma?"

My world shattered.

_I can't hide this any longer…_

I swallowed thickly.

"Jane," I whispered and all eyes snapped to me.

The name —  _my name_  — felt foreign on my tongue.

I could see the confusion in Valen's eyes, the pinching around Aribeth's. Deekin's head darted between our companions in interest, his back straightening in surprise.

There was no turning back now.

"My name is Jane," I repeated.

Valen looked down at his hands with a deep frown, shaking his head, jaw clenched.

My eyes never left his face.

When he looked up again, there was no anger.  _Gods, the anger would have been easier_. There was only confusion, hurt; my betrayal and lies reflected right back at me.

"What are you saying?" Valen asked.

And I told them, my eyes never leaving his own.

As I spoke I could see Deekin nodding in support. Valen was still. Aribeth paced. But every one of them was silent; the howl of the wind carrying my words.

I told them how I had woken in Faerûn, stolen from my world; a universe seemingly bereft of magic and filled only with humans. How, in my home, everything that had happened to me so far — and some of what  _would_  happen — was written in a book; my first and only hint of something magical at play.

Except the story wasn't about me; it was about Emma.

Eyes dry from a year of detachment, and a wall built stone-by-stone, I told them how Emma had died my first night in their world. How she'd died trying to protect us. How I'd taken on her role for lack of anywhere else to go, using my knowledge of what was to come to stay alive.

They had questions, of course they did.  _How did this book work? How can a portal have opened in a world without magic? Everything, you knew_ _everything_ _?_  And I did my best to answer them as honestly as I could without confusing them further.

"So, this is all for our benefit?" Aribeth finally exclaimed in disbelief, arms wide and motioning to the frozen Wastes. "You already know the Reaper's Name?"

My eyes widened and I shook my head sharply, eyes darting to her. She looked furious, pale cheeks darkening in anger.

"No! I only remembered his." I gasped, shaking my head roughly. To Valen, I said; "It's how… it's how I stopped you."

She looked skeptical, they both did.

I lowered my voice, imploring. "I wouldn't have made us travel all this way if there'd been another way."

"Of all the Names, you remembered only  _his_?" She seethed in disbelief. I could see the confusion and surprise in her stance.

And, like a magnet, my eyes were drawn back to Valen.

I saw a flash of anger then, burning and terrible in those shifting eyes of his. The muscles in his jaw tensed, those strong hands that had once roamed my body — once in a moment of fierce passion and another in a moment of dark intentions — clenched into tight fists. I could sense the awful speed and strength his demonic blood had gifted him, etched in every hard line and beautiful curve of his body. But slowly, as he looked at me, he wrestled the rage back into its box, and the tension in his frame faded. He swallowed hard and turned to the fire.

"Why lie?" he asked flatly.

I took a moment to consider my response; my first instinct to twist the truth to suit my needs.

But I sighed, deflated.

"At first I was scared," I admitted. My eyes found Deekin's. "And then — when I did tell people — things started changing." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "And everything went to shit."

"You knew all of this?" Aribeth's head snapped to the kobold, accusation in her voice.

Deekin offered a flat, toothless smile. "Deekin knew." he nodded. "Boss told me everything aaaaages ago. Already already knew about Goatman and Elflady back in Hilltop. Boss not lying."

I could see Valen considering the implications.

I smiled fondly at the kobold, despite the pain in my heart. "Deekin was never meant to die." I said bitterly. "I think I changed that, by telling him what was going to happen."

_Emma was never meant to die, either._

_Gods, I was like a fucking cancer._

I felt a chill go through me.

 _What would change now that_ they  _knew?_

"I couldn't tell you. I couldn't risk it." I insisted at their stunned silence, eyes searching Valen's. I pushed down on my fears, grasping desperately for the anger that had kept me going, when fear should have frozen me to the spot. It bubbled just below the surface, red hot. "Not that you would have believed me."

He frowned.

"Emma—" he cut himself off at the name, eyes turning hard and angry. "— Jane. Whoever you are." He gritted out "I trusted you."

 _Trusted_. I swallowed a shaky breath, stomping down hard on my clenching heart.

He seemed to see the effect his words had on me, eyes softening slightly.

"Trust." he corrected himself, unsure. Hurt shone bright in his eyes. "I had thought…" he sighed. "I had thought you trusted me enough to share something as important as this."

_I do…_

"What happens next?" Aribeth insisted, eyes searching.

I considered all of the possibilities, everyone's attention on me. Even Deekin leant forward.

"We find the Knower." I said simply. "We buy the names. And we return to Waterdeep to defeat Mephistopheles. Everything we planned."

"And afterwards?" Aribeth pressed hungrily.

"It changes." I said carefully. "There are lots of possibilities."

"Don't mince words," Aribeth snapped. "What is to become of us? Me?"

And then I saw it. Beneath the anger and hurt; fear. Bitter twisted fear.

And I might not have remembered all of her True Name, but I remembered the most telling part.

As Valen was The Demonwrestler, Aribeth was The Twinsouled _._

"It depends," I retorted sharply. "Sometimes you leave. Sometimes you stay and fight."

I was going to leave it there, but I could see in the set of her jaw that it wasn't enough. Her eyes were hard.

"Sometimes you travel with the Sleeping Man. And sometimes you're not the woman he was waiting for…"

_And sometimes you side with the devil._

Her eyes widened momentarily before narrowing into slits.

"Say what it is you avoid." She snapped. "Sometimes I betray you, don't I?"

A bitter smile twisted her lips.

I couldn't find the words, my silence all the answer she needed.

"So my fate was always set?" her eyes flashed dangerously.

Her head darted wildly from Deekin to Valen, and she held his gaze.

"Don't you see what she does? The true reason she didn't wish to tell us the truth? She plays at being a god."

Her eyes snapped back to me. White all around.

"You've orchestrated everything to suit your needs." But then her voice dropped at the end, all of the bitter hate seeping out of her and leaving only the scared and confused women I'd saved from the ice. "Will I ever be free to choose for myself?"

Her words stung, the truth of them hard to deny.

_Shit…_

I desperately searched Valen's carefully controlled features, wrapping my arms around my stomach and hugging tight.

_Did he feel the same?_

I wilted under his considering gaze.

"Please. Trust that I've only wanted what was best for you." I pleaded. "For all of you."

_But mostly, you wanted what was best for yourself._

At first, I thought it was the sword's voice, so strong and clear it was. But then I realised that he sat idly by my bag, silent. My shoulders dropped, the fight gone out of me.

"Trust is earned." Aribeth considered me, her face shifting between self-pity and anger, fists clenched impossibly tight by her side. At last, she shut her eyes hard, shaking her head. "I need some time."

Without another word, she grabbed her sword, turning and marching into the white nothingness beyond our alcove.

I reached out a hand towards her, concern both for her — alone in the Wastes — and for the very real possibility that she might simply just keep walking.

My eyes darted desperately to Deekin.

I didn't need to say anything, the kobold jumping up with a grunt of effort. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself — pausing only momentarily to consider the tiefling and me with a concerned little frown — before he darted after Aribeth.

I sighed in relief as I saw the elf's retreating form pause long enough for Deekin to catch up. But my chest was still tight, my stomach still roiling. I waited for Valen to say something.

Minutes passed. Ticking by like lifetimes.

Finally — and yet all too soon — he broke the silence.

"The other night," he started cautiously. "What did that mean to you?"

My eyes snapped up to his in surprise. I had been expecting many things, but not…  _that_.

I frowned. "What does that have to do with this?"

His eyes flashed dangerously, and I felt myself tense, mind recalling the sight of him angry and snarling above me. Noticing, he hung his head, staring into the flames.

I watched him watching the fire, the howling wind and the popping timber and a thousand words unsaid hanging between us.

"How can you say that?" he eventually sighed. Another pause. "Do you think about us?"

"Of course I do," I snapped.

_His hand, feverishly hot against my suddenly chill skin. It snaked up to rest below my ear, rough thumb caressing my cheek as our breaths mingled. I ran my hands down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us._

I felt a shiver go through me, unrelated to the howling winds.

"Yes," I sighed shakily. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Was any of that real?" His eyes searched mine. The red flecks were blurring around the edges, the blue of his iris' darkening to a deep purple. "Or was it just a way to manipulate me?"

I blinked at him in wonder, heart thudding impossibly loud.

"I knew there were things you were hiding, your past, your…" he faltered. "…your husband. I can understand that more than anyone. We all have history." He shook his head. "But I did not realise you were hiding yourself."

I frowned. "You know me."

"Do I?"

I stood, circling the fire to kneel before him, reaching for his hand. His eyes darted to my throat and he pulled away, clenching them into fists. Instead, I placed my hand on his knee carefully.

"You  _know_  me, Valen."

He searched my eyes for something, and this time — when I reached for him — he didn't pull away. I squeezed his clenched fist in mine.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you. I think I was going to." I held his gaze, squeezing his hand harder.  _"After_." The word felt bitter on my lips. My excuse hollow.

He smiled wanly at a memory. And — whilst he didn't return the pressure of my hand — he still didn't pull away.

My pulse was running quickly, my heart thudding in my chest. It was so loud that I thought he surely must hear it.

"But that's not why I've been holding back," I admitted slowly, and felt everything but him fall away.

He searched my face. Waiting.

I placed my other hand on top of his, willing him to understand.

"This isn't my home," I said. "Waterdeep isn't my home. After all of this, I need to find a portal back."

I could see the moment he understood.

"Sigil," he said, eyes hardening. "So you  _were_  using me." His voice held a bitter edge to it, his timbre a low growl. The red flecks started swallowing up the blue.

"No," I insisted. "I was being selfish. But I wasn't using you. I didn't want this—" I squeezed his hands impossibly hard. "—whatever  _this_  is, to end. Not yet."

I paused, the words pathetic even to my own ears.

Something seemed to occur to him, his lips twisting with a dark chuckle. "Well, you did tell me that your world was no place for  _someone like me_." I felt a stab of guilt at my words, repeated back at me verbatim. "And you intend to return there?  _After_?" The word sent a lance through my heart.

I swallowed thickly, nodding.

He shook his head. Pulling his hands roughly away from my own. He turned his head roughly, the anger clear in the tense set of his shoulders, the muscle popping in his jaw.

"What do you want me to say?" he snarled roughly.

His eyes swirled dangerously, the redness of them growing in intensity.

The part of me that craved his acceptance begged;  _Tell me that you forgive me._

The part that worried that my parents, my friends would never know what happened to me was fearful.  _Tell me you'll help me, still._

And then —unbidden from the back of my mind — quieter, but no less true.  _Tell me that you love me._

"I don't know," I said instead.

And then, as I watched the darkening of his eyes — as he dropped them to hide his pain and anger — an idea took hold.

"But let me make up for some of it." I said.

I lifted a hand to his face.

He tensed, but didn't flinch, jaw tightening as I ran my thumb down his cheek. His eyes locked with mine, cautious, but I could see the want my touch had awoken in him. It was carved in the curve of his mouth, the darkening of his eyes as he glanced down at my lips. My fingers trailed down his cheek, grasping his neck, the muscles tight beneath his skin. Anger warred with lust in his eyes, and I don't know which scared me more.

I felt butterflies rolling in my belly, my breath coming a little bit faster.

"Don't," Valen gritted out, his eyes impossibly red.

He lifted a rough hand to my wrist. I could see him battling with the demon, now so quick to surface.

I shuffled closer, leaning against his knees and bringing my other hand to his neck.

"Oeskathine the Demonwrestler," I whispered for the second time that day.

But, this time, my fear was gone. The truth was already out in the open and his trust was already shattered. I didn't have anything to lose.

And he had everything to gain.

He tensed. Jaw locking and eyes widening. He tried to jerk away from hands, but I held him close.

"What… What are you going to ask of me?"

And then I saw it — chasing away the hurt and want and anger — his  _fear_.

"What more could you want?"

"I…" I smiled sadly. "I release you from your demonic taint."

"You… what?" he scowled.

And then the air around him  _changed_.

Something flickered, something I could not quite see. A bone-deep tremor ran through him, and he closed his eyes through a shudder, his whole body convulsing. He listed, and I held him firm, hands dropping to his shoulders and pulling him to me.

Long after he stopped, he remained in my arms, face pressed into the nook of my neck, my bandage catching against his skin.

He gasped through one shuddering breath and the next, pressed hard against me, arms tight around my shoulders and holding on for dear life. His shoulders shook and I felt the telling dampness of tears on my neck. I could hear each of his shuddering breaths.

"Thank you."

His whispered thanks was so quiet I almost missed it.

And I felt my heart thudding in time with his own.

When he did eventually pull away his lashes were damp, tears in his crystal clear eyes.

Blue as the day I met him.

He ran the back of his fingers gently against the bandage at my neck regret clear in his gaze as he retreated.

"How do you feel?" I asked him tentatively.

His eyes snapped up to mine.

"How do I…" he repeated numbly. "I feel…." And then, he smiled.

I pulled back, my whole body weak. Shaking. I closed my eyes, letting the wonder in his tone wash over me. A small smile pulled at my lips, despite the hard ball of guilt that sat in my gut.

I could already see the change in him, and not just in the long-forgotten clearness of his eyes. His features were still the same – he still had horns and a tail – but there was something inherently altered within. The fierce rage barely held in check, the tightness to his features that I had never noticed. They were gone.

"I… I can't believe it!" he exclaimed.

He pulled back to his feet, looking down at himself in wonder. Slowly, he brought a hand up to check if he still had his horns, his tail snaking around his thigh. He paused when he found their gentle curve, his opinion on the matter unclear. But then another smile flared on his face, and it warmed my thudding heart.

"It's gone!" he beamed. And I didn't have to guess at what was gone. The anger had seeped out of him. "I feel… I feel wonderful. I feel human."

He laughed joyously and I saw that he wanted to pull me up into his arms, his hands fluttering at his sides.

Instead, he paused and offered me a tentative smile, only a hint of regret in it.

"I cannot thank you enough," he said earnestly. But then I saw the pain from earlier flash across his features. "And — whilst I fear this was just another way to force my hand to help you — I will not let this debt go unpaid."

His eyes softened.

"No," I denied his fear venomously, tears stinging.

"It is okay," he assured me, hand outstretched.

I took his hand, words failing me again as he pulled me to my feet. I shook my head.

His look was considering, contemplative.

"I have always fought," he told me slowly. Not at all what I expected. "Nothing is kept by those who don't fight for it."

He lifted a hand to my face and my jaw tightened. With his rough thumb he trailed the curve of my lips, touch featherlight, mirroring my earlier touch. I knew I should pull away, I knew I should stop this, but he held me with his unwavering gaze.

"I have fought for my life. For my freedom." His touch was as warm as the fire. "For my humanity."

I felt my heart clench at the intensity of his voice.

"And for you." He said, swallowing, attention drifting down to my lips and then slowly back up. "I will take you to Sigil. But first I must hear you say it."

"Say what?" I whispered.

I could barely hear my own voice over the crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind. It was like ice and fire; the heat at my back and everywhere he touched. The freezing air on my face.

"That you do not want to stay," he breathed, leaning closer still.

_I do._

This close, looking into the clear blue of his eyes, I realised just how much I wanted him. Wanted to stay with him.

"I can't."

"That is not what I asked."

He ran his hand down my arm, pulling me closer still. My skin erupted in goosebumps, the material between us too little, yet all too much.

I felt my hands moving of their own accord, up his armoured chest, to find purchase behind his neck. Pulling him down, down. I felt the shiver as it ran down his spine.

His head dipped.

My eyes closed.

"Boss and Goatman made up!"

And then Deekin and Aribeth rejoined us and I didn't know whether to cry with relief or frustration.

* * *

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

_There are a large chunk of empty pages after the list of True Names. Flicking through each page, there is nothing further to hint at the end of Jane's journey._

_However, it's obvious that the last page has been ripped out hastily; half a torn page the end of the notebook._


	35. Chapter 35

We followed the ring's direction in silence for the better — or worse, depending on how you looked at it — part of the day.

We fought the final guardian; the biggest balor of the three. And, whilst it was an enemy we were becoming increasingly familiar with, it didn't make the fight any easier.

Valen had seemed particularly off his game.

His attacks came a little slower, the hits a little softer — and I had to wonder if it was the removal of his demonic taint that had brought about this change, or if it was the bone-deep weariness that had overcome us all.

We were tired and we were all on edge. But we were all in one piece and ready to be done with Cania. None more so than me.

Since revealing my true history to Aribeth and Valen, Deekin had taken up questioning me about my world afresh. It was a game I had enjoyed on our trek from Hilltop across the desert with Xanos and Dorna, but now it just left me feeling homesick and  _sick_ -sick.

Aribeth had been silently seething; her movements sharp and jerky, her words curt and rare.

And Valen?

Valen had seemed to take my revelation in stride. The sting of my betrayal softened infinitely by my removal of his demonic blood's influence. But, despite his apparent ability to put it behind us, it still felt like there were words unsaid, more than ever before and our almost kiss played on my mind everytime I caught him glancing my way.

Stomping through the snow, the balor and his minion's corpses dotting the icy landscape, our quartet worked silently. We had fanned out to cover more ground in search of the Knower of Names, eyes on the ground.

"Hey, Boss!" Deekin called.

He was on the other side of the flat field of ice, butt in the air and face pressed hard against the surface in an attempt to make out the creature's trapped beneath.

I perked up at his voice, raising a hand to my eyes to shield them from the glare.

"Yeah?" I called back.

He pushed himself back to his feet, rubbing his cold hands against his pants and cocking his head at me.

"Hows you spell 'excruciating'?" he pressed with a cocked eyebrow ridge. "As in 'in their search for the Knower, the heroes battled their worst enemy yet; excruciating boredom'?"

I rolled my eyes.

"You'd rather just bash every prison open and fight more of these arseholes?" I called back, motioning around us.

"At this rate…" I only just made out the first part of Valen's retort, the wind cutting off the rest.

I smiled flatly, pulling my scarf tighter around my face and squinting into another cloudy pocket of the frozen ground.

I rubbed at the ice with my forearm, melting away the freshly fallen snow and squinting into the foggy depths. Sometimes, we'd be rewarded with a big blurry shape — but all that told us was where  _not_  to break the ice, not where the Knower was frozen. This was one of those times. I frowned at the big blurry form. Just another long forgotten creature that had found themselves in Mephistopheles' bad books. I shuddered; thankful that this hadn't been my fate.

Pushing back to my feet with a sigh, I shoved the ring on again, squinting through the fuzzy red glow that appeared all around us and pointedly ignoring how it seemed to leech into Valen's skin. I pulled the ring off with a huff.

"PIece-of-shit powered-by-hope bullshit." I hissed, stuffing it back into my pocket.

"Cursing now?" Aribeth huffed.

She was veering towards me in her search across the ice. She held a hand out before her, splayed open, attempting to sense the presence of the devil's and demons below.

"She does it when she's frustrated," Valen replied with a cocked brow.

"No fuckin' shit," I retorted, dragging my eyes away from his curving lips.

It wasn't much later that I finally gave up.

"There's no way we're gonna find her at this rate!"

Any longer out here and we'd freeze to death. And, if we merely started guessing at where to shoot the catapult, we were either going to run out of the measly supply of ammunition, or we were going to be killed by one of the trapped creatures.

 _Choices, choices, choices._ Enserric tutted oh-so-helpfully.

I sniffed, rubbing my running nose against the back of my glove with a grimace.

…And then it hit me.

Smiling, I reached for the enchantments on the Sleeping Man's amulet, imagining my favourite of the three forms.

With growing ease, I shifted into the wolf, immediately stretching and relishing in the form's superior senses.

Everything was whiter. Louder. And yes,  _taller_. But the smells? The smells were  _everywhere_.

The wolf's nose opened up a whole new world to me.

Nose to the cold ice, I trailed after the only smell — other than my companions — which didn't immediately set my hackles on edge. All around me was the scent of the devils and demons; like week old socks, rotten eggs, rancid old cheese. It was like nothing I'd ever smelt or hoped to never smell again. It was stomach-churning, vomit-inducing, and brain-numbingly foul.

The others were quick to convene to me, following as I sniffed at the air, tongue lolling in an attempt to cleanse my palate of the horrible smells that threatened to make me gag. The smell I was after was weak, alien.

Mixing with it was Valen. His scent was intoxicating, mixing with the Knower's. I could smell the hells on him, the smell that was so similar yet oh-so-different from the balors below our feet. And — whilst they set my stomach roiling — the fiery smokiness to him almost made me lose sight of my prey altogether.

As if sensing my difficulty, the trio hung back and waited, as I honed in on her.

When we did eventually find the Knower, I was all too ready to shift back into my true form, the wolf beginning to overpower my own sense of self.

A final shift into the earth elemental's hulking mass and I negated the need for the catapult, flinging the ammunition into the area around where I'd sensed the Knower's presence. What the balls of iron couldn't accomplish, I did with fists of stone and sheer bloody will. And — when that was no longer enough — Aribeth melted the last of the ice with a combination of our final few velox berries and a pillar of fire summoned straight from the heavens.

If  _overkill_  looked like something, it was this group digging a hole in the ice.

Once the water settled, we saw her.

Unlike the Knower of Places, she resembled an angel more than a butterfly; her features no less striking.

Looking at her, I couldn't help but consider the logistics involved in her and Mephistopheles being lovers; the devil being more than double her size. I shook the thought aside, reaching forward with Valen to help her out of the pool of icy cold water.

She was groggy, and immediately wary, but she allowed me and the tiefling to help her from her prison; white feathered wings flapping sluggishly to assist when the edge of the pool became too slick.

She wore all white; white dress, white wings, white hair and eyes. Bereft of colour, she seemed to fade into the very ice around us.

She was silent at first, observing us all with wary, wide eyes. And then, shaking herself, her attention snapped to me, pale lips pursed. She didn't look impressed.

"I guess thanks are in order," she offered me a deep nod, eyes never leaving my own. "Long have I waited to speak your name; Murdus the Wild. Judge of Cania." She smiled flatly.

I felt a sudden weight on my shoulders and a pressure like a vice on my heart. The name, whilst unfamiliar, was intimately mine, and I staggered back a step under the sheer force of it.

Aribeth's eyes darted to me in surprise as Deekin pressed up against my side. His hand cautiously reached for my own slack one and I absently felt him squeeze tight. By the time I glanced at Valen, he'd carefully schooled his features, but for the small crease of concern on his forehead.

_They know my Name! She told them my Name…_

I glanced again at Aribeth's considering expression. My heart thundered in my ears, so loud it seemed to outmatch the howling wind.  _Could I trust her with it?_

I searched my mind desperately for any memory of them hearing my name in the game. Of them  _using_ it.  _I thought she was supposed to whisper it to me…_

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, forcing down the anger and panic.

"Why?" I asked the Knower, voice breaking.

I was suddenly struck by how old she was, despite her youthful appearance. Her eyes held all the knowledge in the world, hard and sharp and focused entirely on me.

"I owe you a debt, Murdus," she said.

My Name seemed to pull at my very being; like hooks in my soul.

I wilted under her scrutiny, realising that I didn't know if she meant for saving her, or for what I was about to demand of her. Because, looking into her impossibly old eyes, I realised that she  _knew_. The same way she knew it would be me who had saved her, she also knew that I would be her and her lover's undoing.

"Jane," I corrected her through gritted teeth. It suddenly didn't sound right; like a word that had been said so many times that it loses all meaning, my name had instead lost all meaning after a year of disuse.

"You have many names," she conceded after a moment of consideration. "But, if that is the one you wish to be referred to as… very well." She nodded. "Now ask what you will."

Licking my lips, I asked for the most important one. "I seek the Reaper's Name."

"The knowledge of the gods has its price," the Knower of Names warned, "And they demand a different fee for the Reaper's True Name… There are two items that have aided you in your quest: a ring and an amulet. You must surrender them."

Begrudgingly, I removed the ring and amulet. The Knower of Names took them with delicate fingers.

"A small price for our freedom," Valen said, as if sensing my reservations.

As she placed them in a small satchel at her hip, I fished my notebook out.

"The one you know as the Reaper of Cania is called Hecugoth the Abandoned in the gods' tongue."

As the name left her lips I recognised it immediately, writing it with shaking hands.

"The other names you wish to learn?" she pressed.

I paused; my original plan thrown out the window since the revelation of my Name to my companions. It was a change that I couldn't afford not to remedy.

Suddenly, I remembered the Sleeping Man, who still waited by the gates of Cania. I remembered the power he exuded. The way his eyes had lingered in both suspicion and desire when they had landed on Aribeth.

_Can I kill two birds with one stone?_

"Who is the Sleeping Man's True Love?" I asked.

Once the Knower of Names had received the gods' payment — in gold this time — she nodded. "The Sleeping Man's one true love is called Va'ardalia the Twinsouled in the gods' tongue." I smiled. The Knower shifted her gaze to the elf. "You know her as the Lady Aribeth."

Valen and Deekin both turned to Aribeth. She had straightened at he name, and now her lips were pursed.

I filed her name away for later, to write below Valen's and the Reaper's.

She narrowed her eyes in my direction, "I guess I should be thankful?"

She sounded bitter. And — whilst I knew she would not be pleased at my meddling — I did not think she would be quite so… angry. My already small smile faded.

"Try not to look so pleased," she snapped.

I swallowed. "I'm happy for you, Aribeth. I think you would be good for eachother—"

"Do not be so flippant," she snapped. "It is yet another thing the god's —  _you_ — have decided for me… I suspect you wish him to help defeat Mephistopheles?"

I opened my mouth to object, but I couldn't find the words fast enough.

"Gods,'' she sighed, eyes dropping to her feet. And then, almost to herself, she muttered; "He's been waiting for so long…"

I saw the fight go out of her as suddenly as it had appeared, shoulders dropping. She fell silent, contemplating the new twist in her destiny, face a careful impasse.

 _Twinsouled indeed_ , Enserric hummed to me.  _Watch her,_ he warned.

Leaving Aribeth alone with her thoughts, I briefly considered Valen, both with uncertainty and a certain amount of shame. But as much as I might want answers for myself, we needed to focus on getting out of here…

I needed two more Names; the price of any others I might want both too steep and our supply of gold so very quickly dwindling.

We would not need the Sleeping Man's; because, angry as she was, Aribeth was right — his true love was reason enough to sway him to our cause.

And, sweet little Deekin, him I  _knew_  would follow me to certain death. Death and then some.

He looked up at me, trust in his little yellow eyes, and I felt myself almost smiling in reply to his own.

No, we would not need his. Even if money hadn't been an issue.

We needed Mephistopheles'. And to get that we needed only one more…

"Is there another name you wish to know?" the Knower pressed coldly.

"Yours."

She didn't even feint surprise, voice flat as she told me; "I am Phyresi the Knower."

I wrote Aribeth's and her Name is quick succession.

"And Mephistopheles'?"

Valen and Deekin exchanged a quick glance, the silence thick. The woman's countenance hardened in evidence of her refusal to answer, and I saw more of the rage from earlier seeping through. Seeing it, I knew then how she and the devil had been matched by the gods themselves; in love and Name.

"The one thing that could have unravelled my love's duplicity during the False Rebellion would have been the realization that he and Baron Molikroth were one and the same," she stated. "He took steps to ensure that the truth would never come to light, and he forbade me to ever speak his name."

She was going to make me do it.

"And even if he had not, I  _would_  not."

I looked down at my page of Names. Breathing through the ball of guilt, I told myself that, without his Name, there was no way I would survive the coming battle.

"Phyresi the Knower, tell me Mephistopheles' True Name."

The winged creature looked between my companions, one by one, expression seeking. I didn't have the heart to see what they themselves thought of my bending of her will. Eventually, she bowed her head in defeat.

"Very well, though the gods must still have their price. For one such as him, it will always be high… Are you willing to sacrifice five hundred thousand gold to learn Mephistopheles' True Name?"

It was more money than most would see in a lifetime in this world. More than my house back home… But then, you couldn't put a price on your life.

…Or so I thought.

Without hesitation, I emptied nearly all of our combined gold into the Knower's bag of offerings.

"The one you know as the devil Mephistopheles, Lord of the Eighth Hell, is called Thra'axfyl the Ambitious in the gods' tongue…" she closed her eyes, as if in pain. "Damn you, Hellwalker."

"Thank you." I whispered as his Name joined the others.

She lifted her lip in a barely suppressed snear of distaste, chin held high.

"Any others?" She asked curtly.

"No…" I paused, eyes swinging to Valen again in uncertainty.

It was a fleeting moment of weakness. I'd never intended to ask for the True Name of my true love. I  _knew_  it. I'd found love; the kind that left you feeling like you could never live without them. Before then wondering just how you would when they were gone. I  _knew_. But, here and now, I knew a moment's hesitation.

And that was telling enough.

It was a single moment of 'what if's?' A moment of wondering if you could have more than one  _true love._ The notion of a true  _anything_  preposterous, before I'd become a part of this world of magic.

If it was my husband, would I be doomed to be alone forever? Never to fill the hollow space he'd left behind?

But, If it was Valen, I'd be dooming us to a world apart.

Either way, I didn't want to know.

I bit my lip, realising just what it was I'd taken from Aribeth in telling her what was to come. In telling her what was  _right_ and expected for her.

Knowing would change nothing.

And yet, it would change everything.

I swallowed. "No, no others." And, before I could change my mind; "We need to return to the City. Can you… send us there?"

"I can," the Knower declared tersely.

"The tavern." I found myself adding hastily.

Mid-command, and without any goodbye, she swept us through a portal, back to the City of Lost Souls.

When we materialised in front of the tavern's door, my mind was ringing with the True Names I had learned. Thinking, as ever, ahead to the next step. I barely waited for the vertigo to pass before pushing open the door, notebook and Names clasped tight in hand.

I didn't look to see if the others would follow. It didn't occur to me that they might not. We were so close to our goal that it didn't even occur to me that it wasn't  _everyone's_  goal.

As I was shouldering the door open, Valen reached out a hand, fingers closing around my shoulder. I felt the heat of him, even through my cloak and leathers. I felt the uncertainty in his grip.

I turned, the question on my lips, before suddenly realising just why he had stopped me.

Aribeth had no intention of following us into the tavern's bowels. She was walking away; in the direction of the Sleeping Man.

Reaching out a hand, I took a tentative step towards her.

"Aribeth?" I asked, surprise in my voice.

She paused, looking over her shoulder at me.

And, as words failed me, I realised I hadn't expected her to stop. I hadn't planned any further.

I swallowed.

"Where are you going?" I asked carefully.

She considered me, eyes narrowed and face pinched in frustration. But then, she let it all wash over her, the pain and anger leaching away in the wake of acceptance.

"To the temple," she said simply. There was no hint of her earlier resentment.

The notebook with her Name weighed heavy in my hands as I considered her words.

"We'll come," I said after a moment's hesitation.

Valen's grip tightened on my shoulder; giving me pause.

"I don't need you for this," she said. And then, softer; "I'd rather be alone."

I blinked at her in surprise.

And then, I forced a small smile, nodding once. "I'll see you at the Gates tomorrow morning."

She nodded to each of us in turn, before turning away.

"Good luck," I said meekly, before Valen's warm grip dropped away and we retreated into the tavern, her Name clasped close to my chest.


	36. Chapter 36

To say I had mixed feelings about the Hellsbreath Tavern would be an understatement.

Memories of my heated kiss with Valen bombarded me the moment the warmth of the building hit me. I could only hope that the tiefling assumed my blush was from the sudden heat hitting my cold cheeks.

I found his eyes and the knowing curve to his lips and his replying blush told me my answer. Gone was the seething man of weeks past, his barely contained anger evident in the swirling colour of his eyes. Gone was the demon that killed a devil-blooded man just for looking at me the wrong way.

At the thought, I let my eyes roam past him to the adjoining room and, like a bucket of cold water, I remembered the bloodstained table beyond.

The beer helped. On both fronts.

I was half way through my second drink, the dark liquid warming my throat and chest all the way down, when I noticed that something drastic had changed. I noticed, with sudden surprise, that it wasn't just Valen that was different. The  _tavern_  was different. The ghosts were gone. The pilgrims too.

And I knew, with a deep shudder, where the ghosts had gone. Mephistopheles had built his army; the ghosts serving as fuel for his undead hordes.

But the green-skinned pilgrims? They were nowhere in sight. And I wasn't sure what that meant for the Sleeping Man or the temple…

That just left —  _lucky-us_  — the devils and devilspawn.

They left a wide berth around us, considering eyes falling on Valen and his massive flail. Thankfully, they paid absolutely no attention to me. We'd been tense at first, expecting reprisal for our mistreatment of one of their own, but they seemed more cautious than anything.

He'd evidently left an impression after our last stay.

I finished my drink and motioned for a third.

As the imp placed it on the table, beer sloshing everywhere, I shifted position to avoid the mess. Valen and I sat at our own table in the corner of the main room, my arms crossed atop the small surface. We were both perched atop uncomfortably tall — at least for me — barstools.

Deekin didn't drink, and had chosen to unpack his belongings in our new room, his little head bobbing to the music as he'd disappeared from sight. Since entering, the little imp's hadn't let up with their ministrations of their instruments, their small hard fists continue their incessant beating of the drums overhead. The sound left me wishing for Deekin to return and play his own music, even the Trumpet of Pandemonium beginning to seem preferable.

The drums seemed to vibrate through my entire body, each beat putting me that little bit more on edge.

I had to admit though, it might have been nothing to do with the music, and everything to do with the impending fight that I knew was coming. My insides clenched tightly and my teeth were gritted in place.

Even trying as hard as I could to focus only on this drink and this moment, my mind kept straying ever forward to what tomorrow would bring.

Freedom, yes. And blue blue skies.

But also Mephistopheles.

And after that —  _if_  we were lucky enough for an after — who knew?

I swallowed another mouthful, starting at the realisation that Valen's eyes were on me. Blue and unblinking.

I inhaled my beer the wrong way and spluttered in surprise, earning a small smile from him. I motioned in embarrassment at his unfinished glass.

"You're not drinking?" I managed through another cough.

"One was enough."

I pulled his glass towards me. "Suit yourself." I shrugged. "I mean it's no Muse's Verity, but…"

I trailed off, taking another sip. Despite the alcohol I still felt tense and on-edge. Like I'd forgotten something. Like I wasn't ready.

I took another deep gulp of the drink.

Last one, and then I'd be able to sleep.

At Valen's vacant expression, I forced what I hoped was a convincing smile over the rim of my glass. "You know; the purple drink from Lith My'athar?" I pressed with a raised brow.

He seemed to consider his words. "I did not realise you knew what it was."

"Well… not at the time." I felt my cheeks colour as snaps of memory from that night came filtering back to me.

"Nathyrra?" he hummed.

My heart clenched painfully at her name; shame building up and turning to anger. I swallowed it down and waited for it to pass.

"The Seer." I said.

The drow and I had spoken the morning following my embarrassing foray into drow society.

I'd answered a light knock at my door, opening it and fully expecting one of the usual serving women. Instead, the Seer alone had been standing there, a small cloth of fresh pastries in hand.

We'd talked over breakfast about things that had seemed so very incidental at the time — her morning prayers, how the pastries were made, the festivities of the night before —  _didn't she know we were going to be fighting to our deaths in a matter of hours?_  But — looking back — it had been exactly what I needed.

A fact that I had no doubt she'd known.

The Seer had seemed happy to learn that I was able to experience some of the finer aspects of drow society, lips curving up and eyes narrowing at my mention of the tiefling's presence. She had been all too willing to answer my questions about the drink, her eyes lighting up in pride as I'd jotted everything down. She'd given me pause at the revelation that, in some, it caused temporary telepathy.

If my failed attempt at reading a cantrip scroll in Hilltop hadn't been enough evidence, this solidified my suspicions — once and for all — that I had absolutely no natural nack for magic.

But did Valen?

I considered the tiefling's pursed lips and chewed at my own.

"She mentioned it could cause telepathy in some drinkers," I started, unsure.

He smiled flatly, raising a large hand to his chin and scratching at the growing stubble there.

My eyes widened.

"You knew!"

I felt a laugh building in my chest, forcing its way through the twisting of my insides, through my fear and anxiety, and making its way to the surface.

I laughed once, sudden and hard, before planting a hand to my smiling mouth to hold the rest of my snorting laugh at bay. The sound surprised Valen just as much as the surrounding devils, a few of them glancing in our direction, before shifting further away.

"You are... not mad?" he pressed carefully.

His eyes crinkled in the beginnings of a smile, despite his uncertainty.

I shrugged, the motion pulling at the bandages on my neck uncomfortably.

"You wanted to see if I planned on betraying the Seer?"

He smiled sheepishly.

"Well, it obviously didn't work, or else you'd have known about my… history… before now."

I searched his face for any sign of my earlier betrayal, but found none of the anger and hurt from before.

I found my smile forcing its way across my face, an answer to his own.

Whatever  _this_ was — this easy back of forth between friends — was uncharted territory.

And, maybe it was the beer, or the very real possibility that Mephistopheles might simply crush us before I even thought of his True Name, but I found that — for one of the few rare times since coming here from my own world — maybe I could enjoy myself.

He reached across the table, taking the cup from me. Warm fingers brushed against my own.

My eyes snapped to his and he offered me another tentative smile.

He took a long couple of mouthfuls, eyes hard on me, before placing it back between us.

"So you didn't read my mind?" I raised my eyebrow, before giving into the impulse and lifting them once.

He coughed lightly into his sleeve, colour darkening his cheeks and widening the smile on my lips.

He turned over my words. "Turns out I'm not very…" he hummed thoughtfully.

"Open minded?" I pressed, good-naturedly.

" _...receptive_ , when it comes to magic."

I chuckled, reaching for the drink and letting my fingers graze his own, an exact mirror of his earlier move. I enjoyed the warmth of his hands for longer than strictly necessary before pulling back and draining the last of the beer.

"I caught a glimpse of …something," he shrugged. "Once or twice. But that's it."

I swallowed, motioning for another drink absentmindedly.

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Its the  _last_  last one," I insisted.

Once the imp dropped off the drink and snatched a handful of the coins from the tabletop, I turned back to the tiefling.

"So… something?" I pressed, curiosity getting the better of me.

I smiled despite my discomfort, noticing he was just as embarrassed. I gave him my best shit-eating grin, the darkening blush on his cheeks giving me more confidence than I had any right to have.

He scratched at his face again, attempting to hide his burning cheeks from view, eyes anywhere but on me.

"I had thought…" he paused, cheeks still that wonderful dark red, before shrugging. My grin faded at the change in his tone. "I realise now you were thinking about your husband." It almost sounded like a question. " _His_ eyes were brown?" His words got quieter towards the end, and I could practically hear the moment he realised that he hadn't wanted to say any of this.

The memory that flashed through my mind wasn't one that I expected — It wasn't of my husband — but of a night  _technically_ not too long ago. But a night that was a literal lifetime ago.

_Our skin glowed, casting shadows through the dark streets of Lith My'athar._

_Valen's hands were on my shoulders, his head dipping down towards me._

_I leant forward, eyes fluttering closed and breath shaking, but Valen held me in place; an arms length away._

_I opened my eyes at his rigidity. All I wanted to do was sway and move and enjoy our last night alive._

_His eyes showed the kind of gentle concern that had brought to mind my husband_ —  _blue eyes turning brown…_

I leant back on the stool, raising an eyebrow as he maneuvered the drink from me, taking another mouthful, eyes everywhere but on my face.

Only when I was sure my voice would be steady, I spoke, forcing lividity and enthusiasm into my tone, when all I felt was nerves.

"Way to kill the mood."

His eyes snapped back to me, surprise clear.

"The mood?" he eventually pressed.

I waved a hand. "You know  _the mood._ Good vibes. That kind've thing?"

He nodded once, clearly unsure.

But, despite wanting to power through, the clenching in my gut was back, and I realised that — no matter how  _right_  this had felt only moments before — it had an expiry date on it.

And, if it wasn't tomorrow — I shuddered at the memory of my recent death at Mephistopheles' hand — then it was the moment I found a portal home.

Valen sensed the change, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. He pushed the drink back towards me.

The silence stretched between us as I finished it, and I surprised both of us when I didn't order yet another  _last one_.

We both waited for something; the other to bring back the easy camaraderie of before, or to let things lie and declare it was officially time to sleep. But we just sat there.

The silence stretched thin as Valen shifted the empty cup between one hand and the other, his eyes roaming around us with the practiced discipline of a warrior, rather than the paranoid anger of a demon in hell.

I swallowed at the memory of our last stay.

He seemed to notice my discomfort, turning back to face me with a considering tilt to his head.

This was it; he was going to break this stalemate and declare an end to the day.

"I have been meaning to thank you properly."

I frowned.

His voice was soft and he spoke formally, clearly; the words something that he'd obviously rehearsed in his mind.

"…for?"

He frowned, as if it should be obvious.

I blinked back at him.

"For what you did," he swallowed. "For using my True Name the way that you did. I can never repay you for it."

I let my shoulders relax, allowing the smile that pulled at my lips. "You don't have to thank me. It's…" I raised my hands in defeat. "Well, it's the least I could do. Really."

He smiled easily, before looking around the room in wonder. "By the hells, but I did not think I would be here again."

I frowned. Again.

His eyes snapped to my own. "I was prepared for you to leave me out there," he admitted quietly, voice breaking.

I leant across the table to hear him better, swallowing through the sudden lump in my throat at the sincerity of his words.

"The most that I hoped to achieve was getting you as close to the Knower as I could…"

I paused, realising that my hand had snaked across the table to reach for him, fingers just shy of his hands. I paused.

"I would never have left you." I promised him, surprised by the truth of my words. I cleared my throat. "Not out there."

He looked down at the space between our hands.

"You would not have had a choice."

He shut his eyes against something only he could see, shaking away the unbidden memory.

I looked down at our hands and considered closing the gap. I wanted to.

But my hand remained where it was.

"But then you freed me," he said with a ghost of a smile.

He opened his eyes; clear and blue and beautiful.

Snaking out his hand, he grabbed my wrist, warm fingers holding my hand in place. Before I could do anything, he pushed back his stool, standing and leaning across the table.

For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.

The thought brought with it a swell of need and shame and fear that froze me in place.

But then he paused, just shy of my ear.

"Murdus the Wild," he whispered.

His breath was hot on my neck.

It took me a moment to process what he'd said, my heart and body seizing, before my brain finally caught up. It was worse than the geas, the tugging of my soul. Everything around us seemed to fade away, until there was only him and me and the need to listen above all else.

I scrambled to recall his own Name, ready to put an end to whatever he was about to do.

But the words died on my lips.

At first I thought it was the power of my own Name, stilling me.

"Valen?" But then I whispered his name and I realised what had stopped me.

I trusted him.

Gods, I didn't want to. But I did. I trusted him fully.

He took a deep breath. I held mine.

"Forgive yourself, and let go of your past."

The drums beat all around us, thumping in time with my thundering heart, and I realised that maybe I shouldn't have.


	37. Chapter 37

"The fuck, Valen?" I snatched my hand from his.

I think of all the things I could have said, Valen hadn't been expecting that. His expression was shocked, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he reached out to still me.

I slapped his arm away.

I pushed away from the table, stool tipping sideways and hitting the floor with a crash. Heads swung towards us, smiling with gleeful curiosity. But most turned away with disinterest, chins upturned.

My chest was heaving, shoulders rising and falling with each furious breath.

'Let go of your past' — what did that even mean?

I swallowed down my rising panic, grasping desperately for a memory — of my husband, of my family, of my life — and knew a moment of relief when they were right where they'd always been. I turned them over and looking for some flaw, some difference.

His voice rang through my head on repeat; let go, let go, let go…

An imp's cackling cut through the chant, little red eyes boring holes into my very being.

I backed up, stumbling over the felled stool and almost joining it.

I could feel more eyes on me. I needed to get away.

"My lady, I —" he stammered, all careful formality.

I wanted to cry as rage filled my belly.

"What were you thinking?" I spat out, silencing whatever he was about to say.

My voice was cold. Every word over pronounced; slicing rather than tumbling through the too-hot air.

He paused and I saw the muscles in his jaw clench.

"You don't have any right to change things like that." I hissed. "My past and my pain, they're…"

I closed my eyes. I had intended to say it was important, but I had a moment of doubt, the word dying on my tongue.

But was that the command of my Name talking, or was it me?

I opened my eyes again, blinking away the watery sting.

I could see the hurt on his face, and my heart clenched painfully for the barest of moments, shocking me with the rawness of it. But then his words came back to me and I couldn't look at him a moment longer. I turned away, searching for the exit.

"Jane," he said desperately, voice lost.

And it was only my name from his lips that could have stilled me in that moment.

I waited, back turned and fists clenched.

"I had thought…" his voice wavered and he tried again. "I had only wanted to help you. Like you had me."

I had another moment of doubt, my angry retort dying in my throat.

Was this the same as what I had done for him?

And, even if it wasn't, hadn't I intended to do the very same thing with Aribeth and her Name, before facing Mephistopheles, to ensure she'd be harder for him to sway.

I bit my cheek in uncertainty, temples throbbing with the effort of keeping everything in.

But how could I trust my own thoughts, when he might have altered them irrevocably? How could I trust anything I thought or felt?

I ripped my eyes away, wanting only to be alone before I said or did something that I would regret.

But would I regret it?

Uncertainty tore at my insides.

So, sucking in a breath, my vision blurring, I left.

I didn't turn back, I couldn't. I needed to think, away from that look on his face.

Pawing my eyes with a palm, I found myself in front of our door, wiping away the threat of my stubborn tears. I stared at it, shoulders hunched.

With a nervous glance at the devil's beyond the hall peering down at me, I took one final shuddering breath and pushed the door open. My hands shook on the doorknob.

"Boss?"

Deekin sat on one of the two beds, pages littered all around him, head perking up in surprise.

Lost for words, I searched the room vacantly for something to do, some reason for my being there. My eyes darted from the bed to my pack to the small vanity and age-fogged mirror.

I froze, catching my reflection.

My neck was splotchy and red, and my eyes were bloodshot with evidence of my threatening tears, the pale grey iris' stark in contrast. They looked sunken and unhealthy, against the dark circles that ringed my eyes, and the new gauntness to my cheeks wasn't doing me any favours.

I blinked in surprise, experiencing a moment of doubt that it was actually me I was seeing. The stranger blinked back at me.

I didn't even hear Deekin approach as I watched curiously as this person in our room shut the door just as I did. As she allowed the little kobold to wrap his arms around her stomach in a hug free of reason or judgement. As she was led to the empty bed, her hand in his little clawed one.

I blinked and she was gone and I was staring into Deekin's concerned face.

I swallowed, smiling shakily.

"Shit," I attempted a chuckle. "I look terrible."

"Deekin doesn't think Boss ever look good," he assured me with a cheeky smile.

We sat there for a while. Me perched on the side of the bed, him standing in front of me.

His head was tilted to the side as he considered our predicament, scaled brow ridge pulled down hard. He made a couple of false attempts at saying something before giving my hand a final squeeze and letting go. He jumped up on the bed beside me.

"Goatman be angry again?"

I shook my head slowly.

"No," I sighed. "He was trying to help."

I felt defeated. The truth of my words washing over me.

"How?" He pressed skeptically.

"He used my Name. My True Name. To try and help me… move on, I guess?" I gritted my teeth.

"Like you did with Goatman." Deekin stated simply.

My steadily growing anger froze in its tracks.

"Yeah," I eventually admitted. "Just like I did."

He considered my words before suddenly perking up straighter. "Just how well does True Name work? Can Boss make Goatman do anything? Like his tail crow curly?" He perked up suddenly in excitement "Like make little Deekin fly, even?"

I couldn't help myself. I chuckled at his excitement. "If I knew your Name, maybe…"

But who knew how the Name's power worked. Would the magic make Deekin sprout wings, as he'd always meant to? Would it force him to hop as high as he could, and consider the command complete? Or would he simply jump off the nearest cliff and fall to his untimely death?

I shook my head.

Or did that depend entirely upon his own interpretation of the command? Or the commander's intent?

This was precisely why I had been so damn angry; we didn't know how it worked. How any of it worked.

"Deekin think Goatman have thick head," he told me matter-of-factly, earning a snort of agreement. "Probably the human half," he muttered to himself, earning himself a nudge. "But he thinks Goatman just trying to help."

I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yeah," I hummed. "I know."

"Deekin knows you know."

I felt the bed shift as Deekin jumped back down, but — instead of returning to the other bed and his mess of notes, I heard him shuffle to the room's door.

I lifted my head to show him my raised eyebrow.

"Deekin goes get thick-headed Goatman," he said, matter of factly. "Boss wants to say sorry, right?" He tilted his head. "Before we get crushed by devil tomorrow?"

I blew a huff of air out loudly between my lips.

"No." Yes.

"That's what Deekin thoughts," he said with a nod, seeing right through my lie.

And then, without another word, he left. I let him, a disbelieving smile pulling at my lips.

I fell back onto the bed, my heart thudding in my chest as I considered what I would say to him.

Shame and nerves replaced the space anger had rushed to fill earlier.

I barely had any time to consider anything, before the door was opening again. The air seemed to suck from the room, the room's warm temperate dropping almost immediately.

Shit, that was quick!

My eyes widened, and I shot bolt upright, rubbing furiously at my face with my sleeve, in an attempt to freshen up. My arm fell away in surprise.

Because it wasn't Valen at the door. And it wasn't Deekin.

But I knew him all the same.

"Shaundukel…" I muttered in surprise, leaping from the bed.

His answering smile, whilst friendly and open, sent chills down my spine.

"Knew you'd figure it out," the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

The older man stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him as if he owned the place.

I swallowed, stepping back and dropping my hand to Enserric's hilt. I felt the sword's uncertainty.

He didn't move to approach me, but seemed undeterred by my less than warm welcome. He crossed his arms across his broad chest.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, a million other questions racing through my mind.

"Talking to you," he replied matter-of-factly. "Hard to catch you away from that demon-spawn, of late."

I sized him up with a frown. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was doing the very same to me. I wondered briefly what he thought. I was a far cry from the scared girl he'd met across the embers of a dying fire, almost a year ago.

His expression was blank, but otherwise friendly, and he offered no further reasoning for his sudden reappearance. He simply allowed the silence to silence to stretch on, until I felt I would burst.

"Why?" I eventually pressed. "Why did you bring me here?"

Because it could have only been him.

"Why?" He smiled, as if I were a very young child, asking a very simple question. "To kill Mephistopheles, of course. Emma obviously wasn't cut out for the job," he shrugged. I recalled my last memory of her, his flippant tone making my insides clench. "So I had to make sure someone would be."

"Who killed her?" I pressed. "She was never meant to die."

He looked at me as if it were obvious. "A devil killed her," he said. "Who do you think?"

I swallowed. The next question already leaving my lips. "But why me?"

"Because you're special," he stated simply.

'Careful,' Enserric suddenly warned me. I ignored him.

"Bull-fucking-shit," I snapped instantly, crossing my arms.

The smile never left his lips, but something dark and angry flashed across his features for the barest of moments. It was there and gone so quickly; his mask of amused consideration carefully settled on his features once more.

I forced myself to relax my shoulders, but I gripped Enserric harder than ever. He eyed my defensive posture, but — instead of causing insult — it only seemed to amuse him further.

I raised an eyebrow, despite my growing unease. When it was clear I wasn't letting him get away with his cliche, airy-fairy bullshit he dipped his head in an admittance of mock defeat.

"True," he finally admitted. "There were many potentials — not as many as you would expect, but a valid sample, all the same. They would have suited my purpose just as well as you. Of them, you were simply lucky."

Chance? Chance landed me here?

'Ha! Some luck!' Enserric scoffed.

"And just what was it that landed me on your shortlist?" I pressed, fighting the waver in my voice and trying to keep the anger from it. I suspected anger wouldn't serve me well in this instance.

"I knew you'd do what needed to be done," he stated simply. "You would kill Mephistopheles."

There it was again; kill Mephistopheles.

"I don't know that I will," I admitted slowly. "I was planning on sending him back here…"

He shook his head slowly, the smile never wavering from within the bush of his greying beard. "Not if you want to go home."

I perked up instantly. "You can send me back?"

Very slowly, he said; "Kill Mephistopheles, and I'll send you home."

'Think about this, Jane,' Enserric warned me.

"Deal," I said over whatever the sword was going to say next.

Suddenly, a white hot band of pain seared at my finger. The skin beneath my ring — his ring — burning red hot for the barest of moments, before fading. I waved my hand out with a hiss.

"A little warning next time," I muttered, rubbing my hand with a grimace.

He showed me his teeth in a lazy smile, eyes flashing in the low light of the room.

I could hear footsteps down the hall, the light clang of armoured boots. Valen.

Shaundukel glanced behind him slowly at the sound of the approaching tiefling.

"So," I started skeptically, "Just what do you get out of all of this?"

'Sure, she asks these questions after making a deal,' Enserric muttered, his disapproval clear.

He waggled his finger at me with a smirk, raising an eyebrow, and I knew that I wasn't getting anything further out of him. Before I could say anything more, he turned, reaching around and opened the door.

But it wasn't the hall on the other side.

The portal sparked and spun, taking up the entire doorway. It was black and clear, the hint of what lay on the other side.

He stepped through without another word, cloak billowing behind him.

He disappeared in a spark of light, the portal snapping into a small black dot before disappearing with a fizzle — leaving an alarmed tiefling, flail in hand, standing in the doorway.

* * *

Thanks for your patience. Back to regular updates going forward! 


	38. Chapter 38

Valen definitely got more than he was bargaining for after Deekin told him that I wanted to talk to him. Despite his carefully blank expression, I could tell he most definitely did not expect to be sitting across from me on the opposite bed, listening to me try and explain another thing I'd failed to tell him. As I had to apologise for  _yet another_  secret between us.

The  _last_  secret.

I could see the hurt and disappointment — try as he did to hide it. I could see it in the hard set of his mouth, how white his knuckles were. But he didn't interrupt me, he didn't judge me. Instead, he tried his best to school his face into one of patient understanding.

I think that's why I told him everything.

Everything; right down to my recent deal with Shaundukel.  _Kill Mephistopheles, and I'll send you home,_ he'd said. My ring finger still smarted with the burn of whatever magic had sealed the deal in place.

Valen's eyes were intent as I explained myself. His arms crossed attop his thighs, and his whole body leaning towards me. He perched on the side of his bed, his position a perfect mirror to my own. I only needed to shift slightly, and our knees would be touching.

I don't know when I had become so aware of his every movement…

He interrupted only once, carefully questioning my confidence that the man he'd glimpsed was actually Shaundukel. His eyes dropped to my cursed ring in uncertainty. I don't know if recounting Drogan's words of certainty did much to assuage his fears, but he let me continue. He didn't reprimand me for bargaining with the god, despite the look in his eye that told me he didn't agree with it.

Once I'd said all I needed to, he simply considered me calmly.

I worried my hands as I watched his carefully schooled features.

He shifted slightly, pulling his knees further from my own as he sat up to his full height, and — eventually — he spoke.

"So," he started slowly. "You still intend to leave."  _You still intend to leave me,_ was what we both knew he meant. It wasn't a question.

I swallowed as my reply died on my tongue.

I'd always been so sure, so determined that returning home was the only way I would be happy. My single-minded focus had always been on what I'd lost, on what I'd been forced to leave behind in my world. What I had wanted — above all else — had been to get back.

I'd never really stopped to consider what I stood to lose if I left  _this_ world.

 _When_ I left this world, I corrected myself.

He stared back at me, mask cracking at my uncertainty, before finally allowing his true feelings to shine through. His eyes were soft, his expression understanding. I saw his throat bob as he swallowed nervously.

I realised then — as the last remnants of my anger for him using my Name faded away — that he would support me no matter my choice.

I took a steadying breath.

"Nothing's changed." I eventually whispered my reply.

Neither of us believed that.

Because everything had changed.

It had changed when we had thrown caution to the wind, reaching for each other with hands shaking. When we had allowed that hungry, angry kiss to become something more. Allowed it to chase away hurt and pain, hands roaming across too-warm skin. Hearts beating in time.

No — if I was being honest with myself — it had changed much earlier.

I had felt things shifting in that dark cavern beneath the temple, my heart thudding in my chest as I'd rushed to Valen's side, knees slick with blood as I'd held his hand. As I died for him. As he had died for us.

And then it had changed again — shifting beneath my feet before I could even find purchase. It had changed the moment he'd used my True Name.

Even if I  _wanted_  to stay — and I swallowed again with the realisation that maybe  _maybe_  I did — how could I know it wasn't whatever change Valen's well-meaning command had wrought?

I had to leave.

I ignored the flash of Enserric as he pointed out my growing uncertainty, like a spotlight in my mind. He wouldn't even allow me the privacy of attempting to lie to myself.

'We've been through too much for that,' Enserric mused inside of my mind.

I unbuckled the sword and tossed him and the belt on my bed with a distasteful sneer. Valen's eyebrow twitched up slightly, his eyes calculating as they darted between me and Enserric.

I shook my head at the tiefling;  _don't ask_.

Valen sighed. "There is nothing I can say to change your mind?"

His eyes never wavered from my own, intent and alight like clear blue fire. I knew immediately how loaded his question really was. What he was really asking. My heart — my honest clenching heart — thudded in my ears at the thought of what he might say to sway me.

I'm ashamed by how long it took me to reply, as I felt myself at that crossroad.

How easy it would have been to let him convince me.

"No," I whispered, to me and to him. I shook my head once. Louder, I said it again. "No."

His eyes set and the mask fell carefully back into place.

"Very well," he dipped his head.

I sighed out a breath. "Thank you," I managed.

Disappointment clenched in my gut. Not at Valen for respecting my wishes, but at myself. For letting it get this far. For letting myself…  _care_  — and I wouldn't let myself analyse the word I'd almost used instead.

And I wasn't just angry at myself for caring for him, I was angry because I had let my carefully constructed walls crumble all around me, despite knowing it wouldn't last. Despite knowing what kind of man Valen was — Just how damn  _good_  he was. And the danger that lay in that.

Not to mention those damn eyes of his…

I could at least be thankful that I hadn't let it get any further than it already had; that would have made this harder again. My mind flashed back to that recent night in the room, the feel of him above me, his hands everywhere.

…and that look that had been in his eyes. I knew that look. I'd ignored it for as long as I could. But I couldn't lie any longer.

I was done lying.

It was love that I had seen in his eyes — that he had  _let_  me see. Love, and hope.

I swallowed thickly, forcing my eyes back to his own. They'd dropped to his lips at some point during my trip down memory lane.

I stretched my shoulders, taking a deep steadying breath and hoping that he hadn't noticed my momentary lapse.

"Who knows," I started, letting a wry smile tug at my lips.

He tilted his head slightly, allowing me this attempt at normalcy. He let an answering smile curve his lips. I tried not to notice how it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Mephistopheles will probably kill us tomorrow, and then this will have all been for nothing." I said with an all-too-casual shrug.

Valen lifted his eyebrow in challenge, and some of the sadness disappeared from the blue depths of his eyes. Eventually, a smirk pulled at his face. The attempt at hiding his hurt was almost believable, but for his hands — which clasped desperately at the edge of the bed, giving him away. He took a deep breath, relaxing his fingers, and the clenching in my stomach lessened slightly.

He raised one of his hands to his chest in mock outrage, attempting to match my teasing tone as he said; "And to think," he drawled. "We wasted our last night alive with  _talking_."

He let his eyes roam down to my lips and back, alight with something I hadn't seen in them before — playfulness. The unfamiliar twinkle burning alongside something that I'd seen increasingly more lately — desire. His smirk turned into an all out grin at my surprised pause.

I licked my lips. My mouth was dry, skin warming with the beginnings of a blush.

And I realised that — just because he meant to respect my wishes, to support me — it didn't necessarily mean he was going to make it easy.

 _Nothing is kept by those who do not fight for it,_ he had told me out in the wastes of Cania. It had felt like a promise then. I should have known he didn't say such things lightly.

Fearing that my voice would break, and not quite knowing what to say, I forced myself to roll my eyes. Stretching again, just for  _something_ to do with my hands — and ignoring the way his eyes followed my every movement — I offered him a lackluster gesture that told him exactly what I thought of his teasing.

His answering laugh followed me out of the room as I sought out Deekin. Valen was only a few minutes behind me.

We spent the rest of the evening together. And, as far as nights in hell went, it was a good one — once the initial awkwardness of Deekin's very open analysis of the tiefling and I was over. We talked about everything but the looming battle that we might not survive, and the fact that it may very well be our last fight together if we did. Even Aribeth's name — and the uncertainty we all felt about her — didn't cross any of our lips that night. It was just me, and Valen, and Deekin, our long forgotten laughter cutting through the angry growls and muttering of the other residents; alien in this place of death and hate and fear. Alien to our own ears.

It was by my third or forth yawn that we finally admitted defeat, finishing the last of our drinks.

We made our way to our room, and I quickly began preparing for a trip to the communal washroom. The thought of finally  _finally_ being clean brought a smile to my face that Valen didn't miss, answering gently in kind.

He had insisted on guarding the door for me once more, and I'd not bothered arguing; thankful that I would have uninterrupted privacy. I wouldn't have to rush this time.

I bathed the grime from Cania from my body, removing the now-unnecessary bandage from my neck, and running my fingers through the mess of tangles from my hair with small hisses of pain. As I washed the last of the soap from my body, glancing — not for the first time — at what I could see of Valen's shadow beneath the door. I felt my cheeks warm at the memory of his parting words to me, after checking the room was empty.

"Just call out if you need help," he'd all but rumbled, a wry smirk on his lips. He'd lent against the doorframe, eyes daring me to say something, despite the warmth that reddened his pale cheeks.

I'd practically fallen through the door in my haste to hide my answering blush.

I'd let myself become so overwhelmed that it wasn't until I was stripped down that I realised I hadn't locked the door. By then — I told myself — it was too late to lock it.

I glanced again at the door, wondering if he'd noticed.

I was scowling when I eventually left the washroom, angry at the realisation that it was disappointment that I was feeling — disappointment that he hadn't taken advantage of the unlocked door. I was angry at myself. And, after a quick glance at his face — flushed, but smirking — I was angry at him too.

He'd noticed the door was unlocked. It was written all over his face.

_Prick._

"I didn't mean to leave it unlocked," I blurted with a hiss.

I clamped my mouth shut, immediately regretting my words. I felt my cheeks burn even hotter as his grin widened, delighted surprise that I'd voiced my thoughts on the matter clear in his eyes. I hunched my shoulders against the sound of his light chuckle, before stomping down the hall to our room. He didn't follow, disappearing into the bathing room and — very pointedly — not locking the door, either.

I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling when I heard Valen's returning steps much  _much_ later.  _Had he been waiting for me?_  My scowl deepened when I realised I had been listening for his return. At the foot of my bed, Deekin was sharpening his short sword by the room's candlelight. If he'd detected my frustration, he hadn't commented on it.

I turned away from the door, pulling my blankets higher and scrunched my eyes shut at Enserric's flash of exasperation. I didn't move when Valen unlocked and opened our door, the sound of the timber door scraping on stone loud enough to wake the dead.

As if he'd simply been waiting for his little tribe to be all together again, Deekin immediately started packing away his belongings, before curling up at my feet with a content sigh.

"Night," Deekin said simply.

I heard Valen's gentle hum of reply.

I pretended to be asleep, not daring to even breathe too loudly as Valen moved about the room.

It didn't fool him.

"Good night, Jane," Valen said once he was settled, amusement in his voice.

It was like none of today had happened. Like I hadn't told him — in no uncertain terms — that I was leaving, potentially as early as tomorrow if Shaundukel came through on his end of the deal.

I swallowed at the rush of emotions that followed that thought. I was going home.

"Good night," I eventually replied to Valen, all of the anger and frustration gone.

I took far too long to fall asleep, the realisation that the fear in the pit of my stomach wasn't because of the enemy we were about to face — but at idea of leaving tomorrow. It just seemed too damn soon, too sudden.

Just one more day, I found myself hoping, as I finally drifted off.

One day to celebrate.

Just one more day.

With a small lazy smile, I realised it was the first time I'd truly believed that we would win against Mephistopheles.


	39. Chapter 39

"I'm getting really sick of people letting me down," I muttered bitterly after the second hour started ticking by.

I did my best to ignore the skeptical look Deekin levelled my way, pushing down the shame that followed my baseless, petty words. The rolling of his eyes was impossible to miss.

I'd sent Valen to get Aribeth when she hadn't shown — first at the tavern, and then again at the Reaper's gatehouse, this morning — the glow of the long hidden sun, (or whatever it was that lit the wastes of Cania), already high in the sky. I figured he was the least likely to anger the paladin further, after Deekin and I had failed to tell her the truth of my history.

Whilst we waited, the little kobold and I had made the most of our restless hands, sorting through all of our glass vials so that the most powerful of the healing positions lining our satchels were the easiest to reach. And — when that didn't end in Valen, Aribeth and the Sleeping Man joining us — we lined up those that we would take to bolster our abilities, ready for the moment before we all left. I even took what was left of my belongings from the Reaper's Well, my supply of ice arrows something I hoped I wouldn't have to use against the Duke of Hell in the coming fight.

 _Please let his True Name be enough_ , I wished to whatever god's were listening. And then — just in case — I closed my eyes and sent a prayer in earnest to Shaundakul. At least I knew  _he_ was invested in the outcome of today, whatever his reasons may be.

And then, finally — when I could take the waiting no longer, and began seriously contemplating returning to that frozen city myself — Valen appeared from the portal, tail lashing behind him. His eyes snapped to mine, finding me in the dark.

He was alone.

He shook his head once.

I felt my body go stiff, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.

 _You can't even convince a paladin and an angel to help you kill a devil_ , some hidden part of my mind hissed.  _Only a tiefling and a kobold will follow you._

'Don't forget your vampiric sword,' Enserric drawled in exasperation, poking fun at my pity party before it could even get started.

Immediately, I felt the fire — which had done so well to keep my stubborn arse alive — come roaring to the surface. My mind went blank as I marched towards the portal, fully intending to head back to Cania.

Valen lifted his hand, fingers grazing my forearm to stop me.

"We do not need them," he assured me, confidence in his tone.

"Did you use her Name?" I searched his eyes

His flinch was all the answer I needed.  _Of course he hadn't._

Gritting my teeth, I pulled my pack tight to my back. Without even a glance in Deekin's direction to see if he followed, I attempted to muscle past the tiefling, and he immediately moved to block my escape.

"They were not there," he stated simply, reaching out a hand to slow me.

I froze.

 _They left you. Just like Nathyrra,_ that voice hissed again. My voice. My fears.

I felt the thudding of my heart, in beat with each sinking thought.

_They left you, they left you, they left you._

"We do not need them," Valen repeated.

He dipped his chin, willing me to see the truth of it in his steely gaze. I searched his stern features, eyes wide and imploring despite the hard set of his jaw

"We have his Name," he rumbled. "He  _cannot_  win."

I swallowed as his words chased away my rising fears, his gaze unblinking as he willed me to believe him.

There was a moment of uncertainty, before he lifted his hands to my shoulders, stepping closer. His warm thumbs brushed the skin of my neck. I blinked back at him, chest rising and falling as I did my best to calm my thudding heart.

"We  _will_  win today," he told me in no uncertain terms.

Shocking me from my stupor, Deekin pushed his way into our tight circle, smiling at me from the tiefling's side. Enserric flashed in agreement.

Shaking my head down at my sword, I let him know — with a slowly steadying voice — that if it came to me wielding him in our fight with Mephistopheles today, then we were most  _definitely_  going to die. But the words didn't hold a bitter edge, and I found my lips curving. His answering flash sent a flush of warmth through me.

Looking around at our little group, I allowed my wry smile to grow into something more — sending a silent thanks to whoever would listen; for the friends that  _were_  with me. I pushed my thoughts away from those that weren't.

I steeled my shoulders, immediately missing Valen's touch as his stepped away.

Deekin smiled, running his claws past my hand before stepping back to give me my space.

Watching them, I let my hand drop to Enserric's hilt, taking comfort in the cold — but familiar — presence inside my head.

I turned to the hooded gaze of the Reaper.

"Take it away Deekin," I hummed, all of us having memorised the True Names we needed.  _Just in case._

Deekin pulled back his little shoulders, snout high and eyes flashing as he considered the Reaper.

In reply, the gatekeeper dipped his head, robes billowing around him as if on a breeze that only touched him. As if he stood in some other plane of existence.

"Hecugoth the Abandoned," the kobold grinned toothily, eyes darting to me as if to say —  _look!_

I smiled as I nodded for him to continue.

A breath, and then Deekin commanded the Reaper himself to let us return to the world of the living.

A mocking bow and it was done.

In silence, we took the potions. All of our eyes on the gate that would lead us back to the Prime, to the awaiting devil.

I was psyching myself up, already having done  _two_  final checks of our armour and weapons, when Valen spoke. His hand was on my shoulder and then gone just as quickly.

"So," he rubbed the back of his neck. "It seems we are arriving at the end." At my raised eyebrows he rolled his blue eyes. "The end of our  _adventure_ ," he amended. "Soon we will be out of the Hells…" His shoulders were bunched up around his ears, hard and tense.

"And we didn't even see any good intentions." I sighed dramatically. "Not a  _single_  paver." I waited for a laugh, but when all I received was a raised eyebrow, I waved him off. "Good riddance."

_If I never see snow again, I will die a happy woman._

"Yes," he agreed. "Not a moment too soon."

Voice fading as his eyes went distant, Valen looked at a spot over my shoulder. No; at my  _neck_. The almost completely healed bite mark. I saw him grimace at the memory, eyes darkening — not purple or red, but to a cloudy storm. I scratched at my bumpy skin with a grimace.

His glowing skin — from the power of the potions — was in stark contrast to the gloomy cloud that seemed to hang over his head.

"You seem almost sad," I said cautiously.

I couldn't help my worried frown.

He dragged his eyes back to my own, running a hand between his horns and pulling back the loose strands of his fiery red hair. The moment stretched on between us as he searched my face. I don't know if he found what he was looking for, but eventually he offered me a smile. It was tentative, small. But it reached his eyes, chasing away the shadows of the room and pushing them back into their cold corners. I hugged my arms tighter to my body.

"Sad. Happy. Excited," he shrugged.

"Bored," Deekin perked up cheekily.

He was waiting by the portal, claws looped through his satchel's strap.

"Today will be a day to remember." Valen finished in a rumble, eyes never leaving my own as he motioned to the waiting kobold and the door beyond. "But I have held us up enough." And then, almost to himself, he said; "I look forward to seeing the Seer and Nathyrra again."

And, despite my history with the latter, I found myself smiling at the thought.

"That," I agreed. "And the sun."

We stepped through; my hand wrapped around Valen's upper arm, and Deekin's hand in mine — the connection a habit the tiefling had long instilled in us.

There was a flare of sudden light, followed by the sour taste of ash on my tongue. I stumbled out the other side of the door, blinking.

I was surprised to find it was night.  _No, not night_ — the air was hazy with smoke, blotting out the sky I'd been so looking forward to. My hands dropped to my sides, as I turned slowly. All around us the buildings burned, the stink of charred wood — and something meaty that made my stomach roil with disgust — filled my throat.

I felt my stomach clench, saliva filling my mouth as my body threatened to bring my breakfast back up.

I staggered back a pace at the pop of burning timber, and bumped into Valen's chest.

"I am with you." He reached out, clasping my hand. "We are with you."

I swallowed down the panic, nodding raggedly.

There was the roar of flames, and the roof of a building collapsed ahead.

Deekin stepped up beside me, eyes wide and round as he stared at the collapsed building, at the movement of drow as they — impossibly — began funneling out of the wreck.

No — not drow — I realised, drawing Enserric. They moved through the rubble as if in a trance.

Undead.

Mephistopheles' army.

I felt Valen shift as he drew Devil's Bane, even as they paid us no mind, funneling down a joining alley. Their departure was met a moment later by the sounds of battle; shouts and screams, and the clash of weapons.

Valen turned away from the horrible sounds, a snarl on his face and a growl rumbling from within his chest.

"I thought I felt you nearby," a wry voice mused from behind us.

I turned slowly, heart hammering in my chest as I saw him.

Mephistopheles was huge — bigger than he'd been in the Valsharess' chambers — as if he had grown with the release of his power.

Vast and tall and muscled, with a trident balanced in one massive hand. He grinned at us from a joining alley. Just three or four steps of his massive cloven feet and he would be able to swing that weapon right at us.

I swallowed, wondering how anyone could block such a blow.

'You have his Name,' Enserric reminded me in reply to my trembling grip. I forced myself to breath, tightening my hold on my sword as I allowed his calming presence to wash over me.

The devil's tail snapped behind him, the only hint at cracks beneath his show of calm.

Red eyes flashed dangerously as he mused; "Had I not trapped you for all eternity in Cania?"

"Sorry," I replied, testing my voice. Louder, I said; "The Hells froze over."

Mephistopheles smiled, hearing my joke over the sounds of battle and destruction that raged on around us.

 _Good_.

He flashed his pointed canines in another wicked smile, giant wings fluttering at his back. "And here I thought myself so very gallant leaving Cania for you. Imagine: you could have been Lady of the Eighth." His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, as he sniffed at something distasteful on the wind. "Or do you have higher aspirations, I wonder?"

I felt sweat trickle down the back of my neck as he ran his eyes over all of us, one by one.

"I see the young tiefling still deigns to travel with you… Valen Shadowbreath, I remember how fun killing you was the first time," his lips pulled back in a cruel mockery of a smile.

'What are you doing, Jane?' Enserric snarled in my mind, the light of my blade flashing bright red for all to see.

I pulled my lips back in a grimace, willing the sword to be quiet. I repeated the devil's True Name to myself, ready.

'What are you playing at?' I heard his hushed musing.

Valen moved past me, one hand splayed out to keep me behind him. "We have nothing more to say to one another," he snarled. "You are baatezu and I am tanar'ri. There can be nothing but death between us."

I felt the tiefling's attention as it darted back to me, the question of my silence in his blue eyes.

"Oh?" Mephistopheles smiled slowly. "But you are mostly human. What if I were to tell you that I could relieve you of your demonic taint—"

"Already done," I cut the devil off, flatly. "What else you got?"

His eyes snapped to mine, flashing dangerously, before landing on the tiefling once more.

I felt Enserric's slow understanding as I baited the devil.

I could see the curve to Valen's lips at my words, his tail slowing to run across my calf in silent thanks.

'It's not polite to play with your food,' he mused wryly. Then, quieter — with real warning colouring his playful tone; 'Or with your friends.'

As always, he didn't let me get away with anything.  _I will end it soon_ , I promised Enserric and myself; even as that part of me that always went for flight over fight screamed out for me to kill him.

But I needed to know.

 _They left you, they left you, they left you,_ was still ringing in my ears.

"Yet I can still smell the frustration on you, young man," Mephistopheles practically purred.

He considered the tiefling's defensive posture. The way he held a hand out to keep me behind him. His tail where it touched my leg.

Realisation dawned in his eyes.

He threw his head back, laughing. "Oh, how it must have killed you to see what I had done with her! The rage — I had thought there was more than just a drop of demon in you, then." I swallowed at the memory of my death in the Valsharess' chambers. His smile dropped with his voice. "You have my word that she is yours, when I am done. All you have to do is  _step away_." He commanded the final two words, hard and sharp.

Valen's tail wrapped around my calf.

I let my posture relax, knowing what Valen's answer would be before he even said it.

"This fight will not end like our last," he promised with a growl.

Mephistopheles answered in kind, disgust clear in his eyes as he dismissed us. "Then your other follower…" his nostrils flared again. "Kobold, you have a thread of dragon's blood running through you."

Deekin shivered under the arch-devil's undivided attention. He nodded slowly.

"You have been held back for too long, from your full potential _._ " Mephistopheles' eyes narrowed. "Why chase after her like some lost servant, when you could be so much more? All the world could know your name — know it and fear it!"

Deekin threw his head around, eyes imploring. "Boss," he hissed. "Why's you not used the Name, yet?"

I saw the moment Mephistopheles understood, his shoulders tensing and eyes snapping to my own. The very flames engulfing the city around us seemed to stutter right along with him. I saw him pull back his trident, eyes narrowed as he seized me up, contemplated the distance.

I didn't give him time to do anything more.

"Thra'axfyl the Ambitious," I shouted. "Stop!"

The flames around us still raged on, but they'd lost some of their ferocity, and I knew that the citizens of the city would have an easier time containing them now.

'About damn time,' Enserric hummed in approval.

Valen's tail gave my leg a final squeeze, before falling away. I could see his lips were still curled in a rueful smile. Beside us, Deekin beamed back at me, a big toothy grin on his face as his head darted between myself and the stilled devil.

I felt my heart swell at the sight of my friends. My loyal friends, with me until the end.

Mephistopheles himself was gaping at us, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"My… my True Name," he whispered in disbelief, his trident falling to the ground with a resounding  _clang_. "You? You've commanded me." I could see him fighting it, the beads of sweat dripping from his dark hairline. He grimaced. "But I must obey… what… what is it you wish of me, Mistress? How must I serve you?"

My ring glowed red hot as I recalled the promise I'd made.

_Kill Mephistopheles, and I'll send you home._

I was going home.

"Die," I said.

His eyes narrowed, head tilting as if he hadn't quite heard me properly.

"I command you to die."

The command took root, his eyes widening in true fear, as his clawed hand grasped at his chest in pain. And then — without a sound — he fell to his knees. The floor shook beneath our feet when he at last fell flat on his face.

Mephistopheles was dead.

And I was going home.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, hopefully the wait for this chapter is worth it; slightly longer one than usual - with a slightly higher rating, too ;)

Mephistopheles' army of undead had collapsed only moments after him, the fighting all throughout Waterdeep coming to a sudden and abrupt end. We barely said anything as we stood there, blinking in surprise at our victory.

Valen's head had darted about the street, as if looking for the next enemy, as if not quite believing that we had won, and I'd lifted a hand to his arm, the smile already on my lips. But then, he'd returned his flail to his belt, eyes still darting all around us — and I'd realised.

He'd been looking for the same thing as me. A portal.

My finger had still been warm from the burn of my ring, but — look as I might for it — no portal had opened upon the devil's death.

At first I'd been thankful; I'd asked for just one more day, hadn't I? But then, as we began winding our way through the streets — more and more time passing since the moment that I'd upheld  _my_  end of the bargain — uncertainty began setting in.

We spent hours making our way through the so-called City of Splendours, Valen and Deekin trailed along behind me; celebrations of our victory on hold as we beheld all of the death and destruction.

We helped where we could, filling buckets with water, putting out spot fires, and passing potions and supplies to those in the greatest need. Valen had moved a few obstructions to the rescue efforts, as Deekin and I had crawled through debris, helping survivors from collapsed buildings. But, more often than not, the tiefling and kobold's appearances were met with only distrust and hate — at times, I think my human presence had been the only thing between them and an angry mob. We hurried past those groups of armed humans, towards the Dock Ward and The Yawning Portal.

More than once, I feared I had taken us the wrong way; the destroyed streets so different to what they looked like in my memory. But then I saw The Honorable Knight — the statue of a warrior in plate armour, his sword and shield raised as if he too had been defending the city from Mephistopheles' army — and I knew we were heading in the right direction.

The epicentre of destruction — despite my expectations — had been the Castle Ward, where we had been portalled by the Reaper. It was there that the host of knights and undead had been at their thickest, the piles of bodies the most unavoidable. I suspected it would be years until they could repair all of the damage wrought by the fires in that ward. But, as we moved south, the bodies of knights were less common. Instead, we were faced with the bodies of families and sailors and merchants; men, women, children who had been indiscriminately cut down.

I forced my eyes ever ahead as we continued through those littered streets, ignoring the sting of threatening tears. The sights we saw burned an everlasting impression behind my lids, and I felt as if a sheet of ash and death had settled on my skin.

More than anything, I wanted to curl up in a warm bath with a bottle of something strong.

We pushed past destroyed barricades littered with arrows and blood, stepping over growing piles of dead. As we neared our final destination, Valen somberly pointed out some new additions to the scattering of bodies; drow — some of the Seer's followers, from the armour. We slowed for these bodies, Valen turning each of them over with careful hands, attempting to identify the fallen.

We recognised none of them.

 _But now we knew without any doubt_ —  _the Seer was here. She'd made it._

The thought alone seemed to add speed to Valen's steps, as we wound through the increasingly narrow streets.

We followed that path of death and destruction right to Durnan, eyes hollow with exhaustion.

Him and some others had been holed up behind barrels of what I later realised were beer — one man tapping the keg with an axe and drinking straight from the barrel with great hungry gulps. Durnan had been wearing old leathers — tight around his chest and stomach — and had been elbow deep in blood as he attempted to hold together a too-still man's insides. He'd barely offered me more than a nod and a fleeting glance at my companions, before we had begun helping with the injured.

They'd taken one look at the tiefling and kobold's offered healing supplies — their own supply long since depleted — before they had found it in themselves to overcome their open distrust, allowing us behind their hasty barricade of kegs.

I didn't miss how some of the men's hands had gone to their weapons at Valen's cautious approach, even with Durnan vouching for us.

Valen didn't miss it either.

At his unsurprised expression, I brushed my fingers against his own — reminding him that I was there, that he didn't scare me. The smile he'd offered had warmed something deep within me, which the bleak events of the day had tried it's hardest to stifle.

Of the men we helped, two had been drow from Lith My'Athar, hands fisted at their chests as they greeted their general. When they had then turned to me and bowed at the waist, something akin to awe had shone on their ageless features, I'd only been able to blink at them in surprise.

As we worked, I told Durnan and those around us of Mephistopheles' death; that we had killed him. Durnan had considered me, as if seeing me for the first time, before sagging in relief at the news — having suspected after the undead had stopped, but only now letting himself truly believe that it was finally over.

I updated him on what had happened since I'd been lowered into the well in his basement so many months ago now — alone but for my knowledge of what was to come. He'd been familiar with a lot of my story, up until my death — 'thanks to the drow's Seer'. This news had gained Valen's attention, head perking up in hope as he asked after her health. She'd been in one piece, the last Durnan had seen, healing those that needed it with the priestess White Thesta. At Valen's request after Nathyrra, he had been met with blank stares, the innkeeper shrugging his shoulders, and the two drow had been in the city too long to know anything more. I hadn't dared to ask after my old companions from Undermountain — content for now to believe that they had survived the battle.

It was much, much later — the sun setting, and all of our limbs dragging — that we finally made our way back to Durnan's inn. Those with us began splitting off one-by-one, until it was just Durnan and the drow males. Without the bigger group, we fell into silence once more.

The tavern had survived most of the destruction — a true testament to the old adventurer and those Durnan had rallied to defend the docks — but signs of a close battle were there for those that cared to look.

Inside, it had been chaos — drow and humans everywhere.

The tavern had been set up as an infirmary and safe haven for those that needed it; based on the mix of faces.

Day far from over, we helped White Thesta with healing yet more injured, using the last of our potions on the worst of them. My dwindling herbs were stretched out for the rest. As we made our way through the rows of people, the noise in the room eventually evolved from one of urgency and pain to one of the tentative celebrations.

Deekin had even found a lute from one of the back rooms, setting up on a table and playing for the sea of healing humans and drow.

I was helping Durnan's daughter, Tamsil, hands in a murky bucket of water as I rubbed blood from some used bandages, when Valen's laughter shocked me from my thoughts. The tiefling, towering above everyone in the room, was bent at the waist to better hear a drow. The drow had an answering smile on his half-bandaged face, fighting through a grimace as Valen's clapped him on the shoulder.

It took me longer than I would have expected to recognise him; the yellow candles and lanterns scattered all throughout the room showing the purple tones of his skin in an all new light.

Imloth — bandages that covered half of his face and hair — had his arm in a sling and a leg propped up on a blood-crusted pillow. Reunion out of the way, I saw the commander's back as it straightened, his face turning serious as he offered Valen an update on everything that he had missed.

I hurried to finish my task, before turning to Tamsil and excusing myself.

I found a smile was already pulling at my lips as I woke my way towards the two of them.

Valen sensed my approach before Imloth, standing back to his full height and ushering me closer to them with a hand on the small of my back. The perceptive drow didn't miss the show of familiarity, only the slight lifting of his arched brow giving away his surprise.

They gave me a quick update on the troops, the Seer — who was praying or sleeping — in one of the inn's rooms, and Nathyrra — who we'd missed; the drow having left with the latest patrol. It was likely we wouldn't see her until morning.

I tried not to let my relief show at news of the latter — both that she had survived and that I wouldn't have to see her today — the disappointed droop of Valen's shoulders enough to still my sigh of relief.

From what Imloth told us, they'd been on the surface for close to three weeks.

They'd taken heavy casualties; first at the Valsharess' tower, and again in their escape from the Underdark. But their numbers had halved again after Mephistopheles' first wave against the human city. From there, Durnan and the other humans had been easy to convince of the threat and had helped against the horde of reanimated undead. A burning city tended to do that to people…

The worst of the day over, Durnan approached us again, glasses clinking in one hand and a bottle of something dark — and very, very old — in the other. He didn't even ask as he passed me one of the glasses, eyes on me as he poured. I didn't tell him when to stop, and he took the hint — filling it almost to the brim. After a moment of hesitation, he repeated the process with Valen, the tiefling dipping his head in thanks.

"None for you?" I pressed with a raised brow.

Durnan barked a single laugh, saluting me with the bottle and downing a couple of greedy mouthfuls.

This wasn't the night for speeches and words for the dead, it seemed.

I followed suit, hissing through a grimace even as I allowed Durnan to top my glass up again.

"Any rooms that aren't already taken are yours," he stated simply. I raised an eyebrow at the bottle in his hand. "The drinks too," he added with another laugh.

We let the music wash over us, drinking in comfortable silence.

"You look different, girl," Durnan said after a moment of consideration. "Almost didn't recognise you when you came upon us in the street."

I frowned, pulling my shoulders back and blinking down at myself.

When I looked up again, I caught his eyes darting away from Valen's face — so quick I almost missed it. Before I could say anything, he clapped me on the back. "But I'm sure you don't want to go over all of that with old Durnan now."

Realisation dawned on me, leaving a sickly feeling in my gut.  _Even Durnan finds Valen's presence uncomfortable…_  But then he passed the bottle to Valen with a polite nod, and I wasn't so sure.

With a smile, Durnan excused himself, making his way to another group of people he obviously knew, a too-wide grin plastered on his face.

Imloth, watching our exchange, said nothing. I offered him my glass — which he very quickly declined, eyes darting again to Valen.

I looked around the room as I drank, raising my cup in a toast to the little kobold as he grinned at me. The music was picking up tempo with each passing song, and everyone seemed to be replying in kind; the ambiance of the room being shaped by whatever magic the little kobold was weaving. I knew that it would be a while until he retired for the night — he was in his element.

I watched everyone with a small smile on my lips — enjoying the liveliness of the room, but unable to fully join in. Every blink of my eyes brought back the horrible sights of the city, and I wondered if precisely  _that_ was why everyone was so quick to celebrate, so quick to let the music wash over them.

"Let us claim some rooms, before they are all taken," Valen interrupted my thoughts with a hand on my arm. If he saw the watery gleam in my eyes, he didn't comment on it.

A nod to Imloth — who didn't seem at all surprised by our early departure — and I let the tiefling lead me through the rows of recovering survivors.

I took us on a slight detour to pick up another bottle, which earned me a raised eyebrow and secretive smile from the tiefling. I clutched the glasses tighter to my chest at the flip my stomach did in reply.

We stumbled up the stairs, feet impossibly heavy, and moved from door to door until we found one ajar.

I went to push through, when Valen caught my wrist, holding me in place.

"Jane…"

I paused, frowning.

_Didn't he want to come in for a drink?_

He let go, eyes roaming from me to the room beyond. He schooled his features carefully as he considered whatever it was that he wanted to say…

But I didn't give him a chance to voice it.

"Stop thinking and come get stupidly drunk with me," I urged him.

I threw the door open fully, before he could say no, surprising myself at my confidence. I hadn't had so much that I could blame it entirely on the drink; it was equal parts exhaustion and the nervous energy from our win against Mephistopheles.

That, and the growing fear that this might be  _it_.

I'd asked for just one more day, and — at the time — I hadn't let myself truly considered  _why_ I wanted it. But, standing here with Valen, I couldn't lie to myself; I knew why I'd wanted more time.

I stepped away from him, into the room, eyes never leaving his own. I could see him weighing it all up, could see the cautiousness warring with that spark of desire.

There was a round timber tub and tap in one corner — bless Durnan and whoever had installed the internal plumbing that the inn was renowned for — and a large unmade bed next to it. The bed was pushed against the far wall, beneath a curtained window. The room was lit by a lone lantern, washing everything in a dull yellow glow.

I ignored the look in his eyes, finishing my cup before tossing the bottle and glasses onto the bed.

Hands empty, I reached back for him.

"Come on, Valen," I drew out his name. " _You're_  not going to sleep yet.  _I'm_ not. Might as well stay awake together."

I steeled myself against any lingering uncertainty, and took his hands in mine. He looked down at them and I saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

Mind made up, he allowed me to pull him into the room.

Valen ducked through the doorway, horns grazing the timber, and the room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer.

I kicked the door shut, allowing him to reclaim his hands as I locked it, the sounds from downstairs a distant murmur. I paused at the door, resting my head against the cool timber as I heard a woman's familiar voice join Deekin's lute in song. I smiled at the beautiful music that they both made together.  _Yes, it would be a while until Deekin called it a night._

Turning, I dumped my pack and weapons alongside Valen's own.

I looked around again, half expecting to see a portal open up, then and there; the day coming to a definitive close.

But, as the normal room stared back, my shoulders sagged in relief.

_I have tonight._

Tomorrow — tomorrow I would worry about getting home.

Whilst I got comfortable, Valen drank from the bottle. He was perched at the foot of the bed, so very out of place in this plain  _human_ room, his discomfort obvious.

Smiling, I crawled onto the bed beside him — feeling his eyes on me all the while.

Pulling my boots off, I threw them towards my pile of belongings, before tucking my feet up under me. I wrinkled my nose at the smell as Valen leant away from me pointedly.

"Sorry," I chuckled with an apologetic shrug.

I took the bottle from him, helping myself to more.

"You're determined to make this our dinner, then?" He mused, eyes on the neck of the bottle as I took another mouthful.

"You offering to scrounge something up?" I replied, nudging him with a toe.

He looked down at my offending foot, nose scrunching in distaste.

"You are aware," he started slowly, lifting my toe and moving it away from him. "That tieflings have far stronger senses than humans?"

I wiggled said toes at him with a grin, taking another drink.

"Well,  _you_  don't smell like peaches, either," I replied, sticking my tongue in his direction.

A smile creased the skin around his eyes.

"Peaches?"

"Fuzzy little fruits," I explained, placing a finger and thumb to my lips and making a kissing sound. "Pink and sweet and delish." I straightened, eyes widening as something dawned on me. "I don't even know if they have them here."

He chuckled as I threw myself back on the bed dramatically.

"I miss peaches," I sighed.

I went to take another sip from the bottle — suddenly not feeling quite so carefree.

_I miss home._

I heard Valen's slightly frustrated exhale, before he stood so suddenly that the bed rocked. I spluttered as some of the liquid spilled down my chin.

Sitting up, I chuckled to hide my confusion.

"Well," I hummed, doing my best to hide my disappointment. "We should do this more often."

He raised an eyebrow at me, a smile curving one side of his lips. "We should," he agreed, eyes softening. "But you cannot get rid of me that easily."

I frowned lightly.

"I simply cannot stand the smell," he admitted with an apologetic grimace.

His eyes found the curtained window on the wall and he moved to open it.

I had a better idea — something I'd been wanting to do all day; as the ash and blood and grime from the city had started forming on my skin, layer by grimy layer.

A smile curved my lips. "Have you ever experienced internal plumbing, Valen?"

Valen paused at my words.

Crawling to the edge of the bed, I pulled my socks off, throwing them at the growing pile of belongings, before rolling my leather pants up as high as the tight material would allow.

I climbed into the tub before I could think any better of it, and turned the tap on — as hot as it would go.

There were a few moments of thudding pipes, a shrill screaming of  _something_ far off, before water began trickling out of the copper tap set beside the round timber tub.

I turned back to Valen with a smile, arms held wide.

At the look on his face, I suddenly regretted my confidence.

He hadn't moved, eyes drifting between me and the tub.

The heediness of having won, of being  _alive_ — coupled with however much I'd already drunk — obviously wasn't as good of a mix as I had thought.

_Maybe I'd misread…_

But then he shook his head, crossing his arms atop his chest, a smirk on his lips.

He looked like he grappled with the next words, so I was a little disappointed at what he eventually said; "I'll go find us something to soak all of this up." He motioned to the rapidly emptying bottle on the bed.

"My hero," I said with an answering smirk.

"Anything for you," he said with a little bow.

And — before his wickedly small smile and the low timbre of his tone had even  _really_  processed — he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Mouth suddenly dry, I busied myself washing. I let the water run over my feet, before rolling up my sleeves and cleaning my hands and nails; the blood and dirt little rust coloured crescent moons. I splashed my face, grimacing at the murky colour as it drained away.

Only once it finally ran clear did I push the plug in deftly with a toe.

Sitting on the rim of the bath I returned my attention to the slowly rising water, moving my feet in circles and enjoying the sounds of the bath. As the water lapped at my calves, creeping closer to my armour, I made up my mind. I began moving before I could second-guess myself, peeling off one pant leg and then the other. Finally free, I tossed the black bundle of leather at my ever growing pile of belongings.

Feeling exposed — and all the world like I was making a mistake — I reached for the bottle, taking a couple of gulping mouthfuls.

Warmth spread through my chest and I removed the last of my armour, which I made certain landed directly atop Enserric as I disposed of it. The sword — thankfully — didn't offer any complaint.

I lowered myself into the slowly rising water, sighing at the warmth as it ran over my bare legs.

The moment of relaxation quickly passed, however, as goosebumps erupted on my skin, the underwear and thin slip barely enough to shield me against the too-cold room — or the room from evidence of just how cold I was.

 _It's just like bathers,_  I told myself, even knowing that wasn't at all how it was going to be received.

I continued drinking from the bottle, arms splayed across the lip of the tub, and back — intentionally — to the door.

Eventually, as the water filled the tub — my nerves finally under control — I let myself relax, eyes drifting shut and mind wandering. The bottle was dropping from my fingers, warm water lapping at my stomach, when I finally heard him.

Valen definitely wasn't the silent type, his bulk and armour saw to that, but it seemed as if each and every timber step groaned as he made his approach. I heard the light tap of knuckles, and then the door slowly creaked open on its hinges and I heard him as he cautiously stepped inside.

He paused.

I forced myself to keep my posture relaxed, my eyes closed. Taking a steadying breath, I raised the near-empty bottle in silent greeting.

At that, he began moving around behind me.

I opened an eye to watch his approach, noting with happiness, the tray in his hand. Tucked under his armpit was a far-too-nice looking bottle of red wine and atop the tray say two fresh glasses, a loaf of bread, and—

"Is that stew I smell?" I breathed in with a smile, water sloshing as I tried to get a closer look, momentarily forgetting to be self-conscious.

"Lamb," Valen said, his tone telling me that he had no idea what that was.

He didn't offer me any of it, depositing everything on the bed carefully.

There was some more movement, and then his boots and socks joined our pile of scattered belongings. His gauntlets next.

I chuckled at the sight of the otherwise fully armoured tiefling, at his obvious attempt at appearing casual.

"You look… uncomfortable," I snorted.

"You don't."

I ducked lower into the water at the wry twist to his words, attempting to hide to sudden rise of heat to my cheeks.

His features were schooled into a look of amused indifference, no hint that he might be feeling as alight with nerves as I was.

"We won," I assured him, moving again to lean against the edge of the tub. "Which means no more fighting. You don't need your armour."

He was giving nothing away, no way to tell what he thought of… of  _this._

Without a word, he passed me the stew and a fork. I dug in, grateful for the distraction.

He moved out of my line of sight, and — my assurance must have done the trick — as, seconds later, I heard the telling sounds of his remaining armour being removed.

I ate in silence, forcing myself not to think of the tiefling undressing near me. I thought of toe fungus, and infected wounds, and the sound beholders' eyes made when you shot them — keeping my attention firmly on my food.

Some time later, in only a beige undershirt and dark breeches, he passed me a glass of wine, exchanging it for the remaining stew. Using the stick of bread, he began wiping up what I'd left him.

His shoulder brushed against my own as he lowered himself against the outer side of the tub, a groan escaping him at the effort.

I flicked the side of his face with some of the water, smiling lightly. "Old man," I teased.

He flinched away from the spray, before turning his head towards me with a chuckle. I felt the warmth of his laugh all over, and I could see the mirth in his eyes — but also the uncertainty.

At that, my ring caught the light of the room and my smile faltered. Swallowing, I shook aside the shadows of my thoughts.

Valen knew everything — I had nothing,  _nothing_  to feel guilty about.

If the portal came tomorrow, nobody would begrudge me one night of celebrations.

We deserved this.

…And if the portal didn't come — my stomach clenched at the thought — well, then there was no reason to wait around and let life pass me by.

I smiled at him warmly, hoping it covered my own moment of uncertainty.

His tail flicked against the timber floor, the only sound other than the filling tub.

I found myself staring.

"How do you get your pants over it?" I asked, half surprising myself with the question. At his vacant expression, I amended; "You tail?"

He blinked at me, said tail stilling before it curled self-consciously around his thigh.

"They have slats that close. With hidden buttons," he said slowly. "Or I just wear them low." His shoulder jostled mine with a shrug, as he returned to his food.

Eventually, I turned the tap off with a toe; the water almost full to the lip and sitting just below my chest.

I watched him eat whilst I drank.

"I was expecting the portal to open as soon as he died," I eventually admitted to the quiet room.

Valen paused mid bite, lowering his bread-come-spoon into the bowl. He didn't say anything for some time, and — when he eventually did — his words were considered, careful "I was too. And yet…" he went back to his food, swallowing a bite before continuing. "And yet I found myself accepting that if it did, and you chose to leave…" he shrugged again. "I would find a way to accept it. Accept that that is what will make you happy."

Something tugged deep in my gut, and I couldn't look away from him.

"We'll, I'm happy we have more time," I breathed.

"I know." His eyes flickered. "I am... grateful too."

Eventually, he set aside his bowl, just as the water was starting to cool.

"Well, the room smells infinitely better," he hummed resting his head back against the tub and closing his eyes.

I jostled his shoulder, smiling sheepishly as water jumping over the lip onto him.

I ducked my head under the water before he could respond, determined to make the most of it before it was too cold. I ran my fingers through my hair, surfacing slowly and blinking water from my eyes.

I tried not to let my surprise show when I noticed his eyes following my every movement.

He didn't look away and I was suddenly unsure what to do with my arms, my face.

So I said; "The water's getting cold."

I stood, water cascading down my body as I searched the room for a towel, trying not to let the way his eyes snagged on me give me pause.

I had no such luck — on either front.

I climbed out, head spinning from standing so quickly and skin alive with goosebumps.

Valen rose from where he'd been sitting, stretching to pull a sheet from amongst the tangle of bedding. He passed it to me without a word, eyes suddenly everywhere but on me.

My smile was tentative as I took it from him, wrapping the expanse of material around my dripping body. The seconds ticked by as I shook from the chill of the room, squeezing as much as the water as I could out of my hair and straight onto the floorboards.

"Not seeming like such a good idea anymore?" Valen mused with a wry smile at my obvious discomfort.

A retort was on my lips, but when I looked up I realised that he was edging to leave, eyes on the door and body leaning away.

I paused, frowning. "I thought you were staying."

"I—" something flickered in his eyes. He sighed, shoulders dropping. "Is that really what you want?" he asked carefully.

I swallowed, the idea of him leaving making me feel lost, hollow.

"I don't want to be alone," I said honestly, pulling the sheet tighter around my body.

Something almost like hurt flashed across his face — his eyebrows pulling down momentarily — but then his eyes softened, and I decided I must have misread.

A small smile tugged at his lips, the space between us too much as his eyes trailed down my body.

The white sheet was almost completely soaked, water dripping from my hair.

Tentatively, I closed some of the distance between us, gauging his reaction.

He gave nothing away — just that infuriating tilt to his right eyebrow. But he didn't step away, he didn't move to leave.

I stepped closer again, feeling the warmth of his body as I tilted my chin up towards him.

And still, he didn't budge; waiting. The only movement from him was the gentle lashing of his tail.

"What is it you want, Jane?" He asked again, voice strained.

I smiled, letting the sheet fall away. It pooled at my feet as I reached up to run my hands across the back of his neck. I pulled him down towards me.

_I want you._

"I want to celebrate being alive," I whispered against his lips with a smile.

I pulled his head down the rest of the way, his lips to mine, and felt his body tense. For one horrible moment I feared that I'd made a mistake, but then —  _yes_ — I felt the growl as it built deep within his throat.

With a hand on my lower back he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss.

I basked in the heat of him, even as the thin damp material of my clothes pressed uncomfortably against my skin.

His tail wrapped around my thigh — grazing so very  _close_  — as he cupped my backside with his hands and  _lifted_. I felt him smile as I gasped against his lips.

I broke away, burrowing my face in his neck as I clung to him. Holding tight, I locked my ankles around his back as he carried me to the bed.

I felt every inch of skin that touched mine, felt his muscles as they tensed and moved, felt the dampness of my clothes leaching into his own.

"You are… very cold," he gritted out, the words hot on my neck.

I braced, expecting to be deposited immediately onto the mattress. But then I felt his nose brush my exposed neck, hand and tail grasping me firmer. His teeth grazed my throat in a lazy caress as his free hand roamed up my back, pushing its way under my shirt.

I arched fully against him, exposing more of my throat and feeling his light grumble of approval. He sucked at the skin, nipped at my earlobe.

Skin to skin, his hand found its way to the back of my neck beneath my clothes, fingers grasping gently as he moved my head to expose more of my throat to him. I melted under his attention, thankful that he was holding me, as I didn't trust my own legs.

He didn't pause when he eventually lowered me onto the bed, muscles tensing but steady. A string of kisses trailed down my throat — the knot of healing scar tissue garnering extra attention — before he made his way to my shoulder, teeth scraping gently.

I hummed in contentment, eyes fluttering shut as I shimmied back on the mattress, Valen braced above me on knees and elbows. His hands continued their roaming beneath my damp shirt, goosebumps erupting across my skin as I arched into him.

I felt a shudder go through me as his thumb grazed my ribs, and then he was peeling away my damp shirt.

I arched my back to help, pressing myself against him.

As the cool air of the room hit me, I felt something hard press against my thigh. Heat flooded me and I went taut and loose all at once.

"I have been thinking about this since that night at the Hellsbreath," he breathed against my lips. And then he growled in admittance; "Earlier."

He captured my bottom lip as his calloused palm scraped across my breast, finger idly circling.

I shivered despite his heat, despite the heat growing elsewhere.

He paused and I almost hissed in protest as he pulled away, face haloed by his beautiful red hair — almost orange in the low yellow light of the lantern. I missed his warmth immediately.

"You are shivering so hard that the bed is shaking," his voice was husky, but I could hear his concern.

"So warm me up," I protested, arching up against him. I scoffed with a smirk as soon as the words left my lips.

He shook his head, leaning away and removing his own shirt in one quick movement. I couldn't help but stare, mouth suddenly dry. But it didn't join our pile of armour.

"Put it on," he told me gruffly.

I frowned.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," I said with a pout as I pulled his, admittedly, warm shirt over my head.

He ignored my complaint, placing a hand on my thigh and motioning for me to move further into the bed. He climbed in beside me, mattress groaning as his warmth poured over me.

I reached for him again, determined to pick up where we left off.

"Patience," he rumbled.

I scowled at the laughter in his voice.

And then his broad hands slid over and under me; one flattening against my stomach and pulling me around so my back was against the warmth of his bare chest, the other sliding under my ribs and arm, to band around my chest. He tangled his legs with mine, his tail settling across the dip of my waist. I could feel every wonderful inch of him behind me.

His tail trailed along a band of exposed skin on my stomach and I reached for it, running my fingers along the tough skin in curiosity. His arms tensed around me, and — emboldened — I stroked the spaded tip, feeling a twitch at my backside in time with the caress.

Heat flooded my body, as he nipped at my ear, whispering; "You will find, there are few better ways to get a tiefling's attention."

I grazed my nails along it gently, before smirking and grinding back against him at his immediate response. He growled against my neck, hand stilling in its gentle caress, fingers digging into my stomach.

"Wicked woman," he managed.

My blood thrummed and I began twisting, reaching for him, needing to  _feel_ him. But he clicked his tongue, pushing himself harder against me until there was no room for even my hand to slide into.

"I want to enjoy this first," he said, his voice so guttural I barely recognised it. "Just — let me." He slid a hand under my shirt, stroking gently for emphasis.

It was enough of a plea that I paused, yielding to his other hand as it again began tracing lazy lines on my stomach. His tail ran up and down the length of my thigh, as he slid a finger along the band of my underwear, still damp from the bath. It trailed there lazily, idly stroking, gaining no ground.

I arched towards him, felt the ghost of his smile against my ear.

His hand at last dragged beneath my waistband and the first brush of him against me dragged a groan from deep in my throat. My eyes fluttered shut.

He snarled in satisfaction at what he found, thumb circling, teasing. Brushing, but never quite —

His other hand gently squeezed at the same moment his thumb pushed down exactly where I wanted. I bucked my hips, my head fully back against his shoulder now, panting as his thumb flicked —

Another groan escaped me, and I felt his chest move in a deep chuckle.

Eventually, his fingers slid down, slow and brazen. I felt his touch in every point of my body, my mind narrowed to the point of his fingers, teasing and poised there, like he had all the time in the world.

I snarled in frustration, daring to pull away to shimmy out of my underwear, before grabbing his hand and showing him  _exactly_  where I wanted him. He was more than happy to oblige.

He hissed as I arched up to meet him, lips pressed into my neck, muffling his voice as he swore — in common or abyssal; I wasn't sure, didn't care.

I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe.

His lips traced the shell of my ear.

Needing to feel more of him, I twisted as much as I could. I found him staring at me — something unreadable in his eyes — and captured his mouth in my own.

My very existence narrowed to the feel of him.

I groaned again against his lips, spurring him on.

"You have no idea how much I—" he stopped himself, humming my name against my lips.

That was what did me in.

Valen held me tight against his chest, lips covering my gasp as he devoured the sound.

I let the heat wash over me, before relaxing against him, his hand continuing to idly stroke my stomach. Cheeks flushed and both breathing hard, I wondered idly when the lantern went out.

Only once I was sure my limbs were all back under my own control, I tried again to reach between us, determined to return the gesture.

He hugged me tighter to him, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck, a contented grumble vibrating throughout his body.

"We have time," he hummed into my ear with an amused chuckle.

I pushed back against him, feeling his body's objection to his words.

"Valen," I hissed.

My desperate retort of _; we might not have time_ , sat on the tip of my tongue. But it didn't feel right in this moment, and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

He kissed me behind the ear with smiling lips, flattening my mess of drying hair with a gentle hand.

"Sleep," he said. He might have well as commanded me to fly.

But then he began stroking my body again — this time to soothe, with long luxurious strokes down my stomach and hips, and sleep found me faster than expected.

 _Maybe we will have time,_  I found myself thinking with a sleepy smile.

And maybe it was the wine, or the blissful release he'd wrung from me, but I dreamt well into the night and morning. Dreams of sunlight, and peaches, and Valen and I travelling through Faerûn by each others sides — not a single devil or drow in sight.


	41. Chapter 41

It was many hours later, feeling warm and rested and safe, that I woke with a sleepy smile.

Sunlight glowed through the curtains, the rays peeking through and scattering my pillow in a broken mosaic of light. I could already feel the warmth of the day and hear the calling of birds; a sound I hadn't realised just how much I had missed until now.

Behind me, Valen's arms were banded around my middle, his breathing deep and even against my neck.

I felt my skin flush with memories of the night before.

The smile didn't drop from my face, as I lay there for some time, enjoying his warmth and the peace of the moment.

Some time later, I felt him twitch against me. My smile only grew.

Carefully, I twisted to face him, his arms tightening around me, as if to keep me from vanishing.

He blinked at me, as I nestled into the warmth of his arm, his tail wrapped languishly around my thigh.

Within our little bubble, we watched each other.

I stared into his bright blue eyes, and that's when I realised. I might very well be happy to stay here forever. In this bed, in his arms…

In this world.

So, I said very quietly; "Now what?"

I don't know what I was expecting, because —  _surely_  — he was thinking the same thing, but it wasn't; "Breakfast?"

His eyes twinkled at the obvious disappointment on my face, and his eyebrows raised in challenge. Before I could object, he began unwrapping himself from our warm cocoon of limbs and blankets. I tried my best not to shiver when his tail caressed my skin on his way out.

I lent on an elbow, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly and trying all the world to appear coy and casual.

There was no way I was leaving this bed.

_Not yet._

I let myself appreciate the sight of him, the pure strength of his body, his broad shoulders and the way the light scattering of hair on his abdomen drew my eyes down, down to the waist of his pants. In the light of day I saw the pattern of scars all across his body, and I marvelled at the strength and determination it would have taken to survive each of the old injuries.

I felt him doing the same, eyes snagging on the expanse of my chest his gaping shirt allowed. For the first time, I felt proud of the scars I too bore from my time in this harsh world, a testament to everything  _I_ had survived.

Eventually, his eyes dragged up to my own. I could see the hunger on his face. But also the uncertainty.

… _I'm going to have to do something about that._ I felt my stomach grumble, and smiled.  _After breakfast._

The laugh my stomach's complaint pulled from him seemed to momentarily chase the concern from his eyes, and for that I was grateful.

"Breakfast sounds good," I admitted.

I let my eyes roam over him one last time as he rummaged through his bag for another tunic — giving it a single tentative sniff — before pulling it on over his horned head. I swallowed as I considered what they might feel like to touch,  _to hold_ , and decided that today would be the day to find out.

Hand on the doorknob, he paused, turning back and finding my eyes immediately with his own. He looked poised to say something, his eyebrows lowering slightly.

At his look, I sat up a bit straighter, smile falling from my lips and heart beating hard in my chest.

But then he shook his head and said, far-too-lightly; "Don't go anywhere," and he was gone before I could think to ask what had been on his mind.

I tried not to let it worry me, that look. But I knew that I was the cause. That his parting words had had more to do with what worried him than he wanted to let on.

…And I knew just how to fix it; the idea taking root immediately, and sending a thrum of giddy excitement through my body.

I had known from the moment I had woken in his warm embrace, thinking that I could wake up every morning like that — every morning for the rest of my life — and I would die a happy woman.

I dressed quickly, practically jumping into my shoes in my determination to beat him back to the room with my grand gesture.

Dressed, I considered leaving Enserric. But — after months with him by my side — I felt naked without the added weight. He glowed in approval, and then — sensing my plan, my thoughts — shone brighter again.

"Leave a note, you daft woman," he hissed.

He sent me a flash of hypothetical images, of Valen beating me back and reentering our room to find me gone — hurt flashed across his features, making my stomach clench. However, the following image of the tiefling — throwing himself to his knees and crying out to the heavens dramatically, pastries scattered all around him — was a little much. I rolled my eyes at the sword, scoffing at his answering chuckle.

All the same, I felt a flash of shame, and quickly ripped a half-page from the back of my notebook, scribbling Valen a quick message.

 _Be back soon,_  was all it said.

Even so, there was no way I would let him beat me back. I was determined, my lips threatening to break into a smile as I considered my plan.

The tiefling could follow me through the hells, all he wanted — but damned if I was going to let him be the only romantic one.

I was going to be so damn romantic he'd want to puke.

Enserric scoffed sceptical. "Is  _this_  what I have to look forward to?" He groaned.

I shushed him pointedly, throwing my satchel over a shoulder as I rushed out of our room. I could hear people up and about already, but I didn't pass anyone I knew in the hall, and managed to avoid those that I did recognise as I slipped out the front door.

The city was awake, repairs beginning, and business returning to usual, already. From the direction of the docks, I could hear the telltale calls of merchants and the shrill cries of hungry seagulls. A bright smile on my lips, I made my way quickly towards them, immensely impressed with myself.

The spring in my step, however, faltered at the sight that greeted me. The fish-market — if it could even be called that today — was nothing like I remembered.

Before, it had been a lively place; shopkeepers calling out their best offers to attract customers from the throngs of people, not a single empty space to be found between each colourful stall. On my way, I had recalled the salty odour of sweat and the ocean, mixed with the exotic scents of herbs and spices and seafood.

Today, there was a light scattering of stores. Some of the usuals, but none of the colourful merchant's from across the seas — and definitely nowhere near as many buyers. Those that shopped did so with purpose and efficiency, and those that sold haggled far less daringly, accepting coins with a quiet desperation.

Upon approaching the light offering of stalls, I had a moment of doubt, realising just how foolish I had been and admitting how swept up in the moment I had let myself become.

Nobody paid me any mind as I rushed past each stall, eyes narrowed as I looked for the fruit vendor I had frequented when I'd first come to the city.

She was nowhere to be seen, her usual spot empty, and I didn't let myself consider what that might mean for her. I rushed through the dock-front offering in search of an alternative, conscious of how long I had already been gone.

 _Why hadn't I organised a distraction? Someone to keep Valen downstairs?_  I practically kicked myself, realising again everything wrong with my plan.

This  _is why you're never the romantic one…_

But I pushed on,  _eventually_  finding a store with a far more colourful offering than just fish — and let my eyes roam over the selection of fruits and vegetables. Hope sparked in my stomach as I searched, smile tugging at my lips once more.

I almost gave up and picked something similar to what I'd set out for — the hunched old shopkeeper crossing his arms impatiently — when I finally saw them.

Peaches. A whole crate of them.

Pink and fuzzy and —  _hopefully_  — delish.

I smiled, realising that my melancholy of yesterday had been for nothing; peaches  _did_  have a place in this world. Just like I was beginning to think I did too.

And I would show Valen.

I would chase that uncertainty from his eyes once and for all. I would show him these peaches; something from both my world and this one.

And I would tell him.

I would tell him that I wanted to discover everything  _else_  that this world had to offer, just him and I. Two aliens, lost on a planet together.

And it would be enough.

The smile was wide on my lips when I paid the merchant, and I was so happy that I barely even questioned the exorbitant price.

It took all of my willpower not to start eating them, then and there, as I packed them into my satchel, practically beaming as I started to weave my way back to the tavern, hoping that I would indeed beat the tiefling back to the room.

I could already see the pleasantly surprised, yet deeply skeptical, look that would be on his face when I showed him what I had.

And I let myself wonder, cheeks warming, if this would be enough of a gesture to put an end to whatever had stopped us from doing anything more the night before.

_Not that I'm complaining, but…_

I heard Enserric groan, chuckling to myself as I turned the final corner to the tavern.

And stopped dead in my tracks.

Enserric hummed in warning as I saw it. And a high pitched whine vibrated through my head at the powerful magic at play.

Because directly ahead — between me and the tavern and Valen — was a portal, in the middle of the abandoned street.

It was a portal of such a dark blackness that it seemed to suck the light from all around it, the world hazy and grey where it's sparking edges touched.

And I laughed —  _laughed_! — at the irony, a bitter, hollow sound.

After all this time — all those wishes for a way home, at  _any cost_  — and now that I was finally ready to set down roots,  _here_  was the answer to my prayers. A day late.

I allowed myself a moment to picture the faces of everyone on the other side. A moment to truly contemplate all I was giving up; away from the heedy warmth of Valen's embrace. My stomach clenched painfully, feet stepping tentatively closer as I stood at the preciple of my future.

And then I remembered the  _look_  that had been on Valen's face the night before, as I had reached back to kiss him, his lips devouring the sounds he had wrung from me. I'd seen love and hope and pure awe, and the memory made my chest clench and my stomach flip.

And then again, I remembered the look of uncertainty as he'd left this morning;  _begging_  me not to go anywhere.

And my stomach dropped.

I planted my feet, gripping my satchel — weighed down with peaches — close to my chest.

And I realised that  _this_ was the only grand gesture that would chase that look from Valen's eyes this morning.

I thought again of each and every face on the other side of that portal, edges faded with time, and steeled my shoulders. I sent a final thought of love their way, asking for their forgiveness, before I began moving towards the tavern.

I left a wide berth around the sparking disk of darkness, shoulders pulled back and heart thumping impossibly loud in my ears.

And it felt  _right_.

I was almost back at the tavern, when Enserric shouted in warning.

There was a sudden burst of magic all around us, as the portal began growing, the colour leaching from all around me. My feet slipped on the pavers, as if the world had tipped, and I cried out in alarm, reaching for something —  _anything_.

I felt as if a thousand hands pulled at me, as I cried out again — Valen's name this time — eyes wide and heart hammering in pure fear.

_No, no, no, no._

And then the darkness closed around me, the city snapping out of existence. In the void, the world felt as if it levelled out, righting itself once more.

Everything was darkness; quiet and cold. And I felt true fear grip my heart at the thought that I would never see Valen again. That he would never know that I had  _chosen_ — chosen  _him._

And then the darkness blinked out of existence with a sudden lurch, and I was overwhelmed with a flash of bright white light.

No, not light.

Snow and ice.

I staggered back at the familiar face that grinned at me; all sinister cruelty, where before it had been soft and amused.

The old man bowed mockingly at the waist, beard shivering in the too-freezing wind that lapped all around us, robes lashing in all directions.

There was a disorienting moment when he bowed, where — in his place — stood a much taller creature; black and winged and powerful, and cold icy fear planted my feet to the spot. But then I blinked and the visage was gone, leaving only me and the smirking man.

The man who I had thought to be Shaundakul.

We were alone, in the white empty room of ice.

"Welcome home," he said, immensely pleased with himself.

My heart froze in my chest, the ring on my finger pulsing in time with his words.

 _Kill Mephistopheles and I will send you home,_ rang through my head, over and over and over, as I took in the room — complete with iron throne, the only colour amongst the white.

And I knew where I was, without a shred of doubt.

I was back in Cania.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all those thinking this was the end! If Cania was chapter 3 of the game, we've just started Chapter 4; the final one. :)


	42. Chapter 42

Asmodeus. That's who he was — who he finally revealed himself to be with a mocking flourish of his robes. The one responsible for bringing me to Faerûn, for killing Emma, and for convincing me to kill Mephistopheles. The person — or rather  _archfiend_ — responsible for taking me away from Valen and back to Cania.

He was responsible for every terrible thing that had happened to me.

And I wondered, looking at the smug smile on his lips, if the worst was only just beginning.

"Why?" I hissed, not trusting my voice to say anything more.

He chuckled, and — as I saw the flash of something otherworldly in his eyes; darkness hidden just below the surface — I wondered how I had been so stupid. How I had let him trick me so thoroughly into an unbreakable devil's bargain.

'He's not called the Lord of Lies for nothing,' Enserric hummed, feeding me information as I spoke to the man I had thought to be Shaundakul.

"Why?" he asked, as if the answer was obvious. "Because Mephistopheles was getting greedy," he gave a knowing little smirk. "And I couldn't kill him directly — no, it would have been far too messy. And could you imagine the backlash from the others?" he chuckled. "He was already putting everything into motion for me, smart as he thought he was. I just had to make sure the  _right_ person got his little relic."

He paced, the  _clop, clop, clop_ sound all wrong for his big booted feet, and — as I squinted, for a split moment — I saw hooves, massive and covered in thick black hair.

Icy cold dread gripped my heart. I did my best to swallow down on my panic.

After that, I stopped looking quite so hard.

"You think you're special," he continued. "But you were just easy to manipulate — easier than Emma would have been. Whiley enough to succeed, desperate enough to agree to anything." He considered me, all mock sympathy. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to read the fine print of an agreement?"

 _Dick,_ I seethed, despite my growing dread.

I felt Ensderric's humm of agreement, followed by an exasperated; "I mean, I  _did_ warn you…'

"But why bring me here at all?" I pressed, crossing my arms to hide the shaking in them. "I killed Mephistopheles. You got what you wanted. Why not send me home?"

But, all the while, my heart cried;  _Why not leave me there?_

"Because someone must rule Cania," he said matter-of-factly, cleaning something from beneath his nails in disdain. "But it can't just be anyone; they must be an archdevil or archduke." He grinned at me over his nails. "Or they must have killed one."

I sucked in a breath, fighting against every instinct that told me to run, to hide.

His voice was a vicious rumble. "And you, my dear, will be so much easier to control than the alternatives."

 _Rule Cania…_  My heart thudded in my ears _._

'You can work with this,' Enserric assured me, sensing my rising panic.

It helped.

Very quietly, I said; "So now what?"

And I felt my stomach drop at the words, so similar to those I had asked Valen just an hour ago.

Then, they had been filled with hope and trepidation. Now, there was only fear.

In answer, Asmodeus clicked his fingers.

I felt the humm of another portal as it opened up behind me and bit down on a whimper at the sight of the two devil's that came stalking out. They were all long limbs, covered in sharp pointed barbs. Their yellow eyes snapped between the two of us, feral smiled on their lips

Before I could even think of attempting to use the portal, it snapped closed in a spark of light.

"I believe you've met some of my hamatula before, yes?" he pressed.

I remembered a dark night filled with terror. Remembered Emma fighting to her death, spots of blood on her shirt. And then another, of the blood soaked snow of Cania, as a clawed hand reached out for me.

Before I could bite out an answer, Asmodeus was already talking again.

"They'll show you to your new quarters," his smile was crooked. "I do hope you'll find them accommodating. You'll be there for quite some time." His eyes flashed in delight as he tilted his head, taping a long finger to his chin. "Did I mention immortality comes with your new title?" At my wide eyed surprise he laughed. "You can't say I don't do anything nice for you."

I swallowed at the thought of eternity in this horrible place. Eternity tied to him.

"Can't I do as I wish?" I pressed, trying the fight the desperate hope from my voice. "If I'm to rule Cania?" My voice sounded frail to my ears and I was tense all over at the thought of those  _things_  being anywhere near me.

He chuckled again. "I can't have you getting in my way, dear sweet Jane." The barbed devil's stepped closer at some silent command. "And don't bother running to your dear Reaper — he is currently… indisposed." He smirked at some private joke. "Not that you can leave the hells anyway, not whilst you rule here."

The band on my finger flashed red hot. I couldn't hide my hiss of pain.

Again, the barbed devil's stepped closer, shouldering in on both sides.

I felt the loss of my armour and bow in that moment, naked in the face of such power. But my hands twitched towards Enserric all the same.

In a moment — spurred by either mind-numbing fear or last-ditch heroics — I almost drew him; prepared to fight until I could no more. But Enserric stilled me with a flash of silent warning.

'Now isn't the time,' he said to me.

I let my hands drop to my sides in defeat.

Asmodeus chuckled in delight as he saw the fight go out of me.

"Good," he hummed. "I knew I could count on you." He waved a hand at me dismissively. "Now I must be off, there's so much more to do."

But then he paused, his smile plastered back onto his lips once more. He turned to me.

"Congratulations, again," he winked. "We'll be seeing each other."

I didn't let the two devil's touch me as they lead me from the room, snatching my arms away and storming towards the only door in sight. The sound of another portal humming in and out of existence behind me — chuckle cutting off short — was the only sign of Asmodeus' passage from wherever we currently were in Cania.

They led me through one passage and the next, each no more discernible than the last, as I tried to keep track of our movements

My breath fogged the air, but the chill was nothing like I had come to expect and for that alone I was grateful.

Within the fourth hall, we approached a metal door cut into the ice. One of the devils brushed past me without warning — dangerously sharp barbs scratching my skin — to open the door with a flat palm. In reply to its touch, the door popped open on its hinges. Wordlessly, we passed through.

From there, we began our slow decline down a spiral flight of ice, so clear it appeared to be glass.

Each step was faultless, smooth and dangerous, and one wrong move would lead to a painful fall the rest of the way down. Hands braced on the curved wall, carved ice cool against my fingers, I walked with careful, steady steps; one devil in front, the other behind.

And it was there that I finally made my move, Enserric's humm of approval spurring me on.

I planted feet and hands against the walls with a grimace, pushing my whole body back against the soft belly of the devil behind me. I shoved with all my might.

With a hiss, it toppled back on the slick floor, feet kicking out from under it. I heard a rumbled growl, and immediately flattened myself against the wall as the one in front spun to grab me.

I braced as the one I'd knocked skidded down a couple of steps, forcing its comrade to pause and brace. But the spikes and claws slowed its fall, and what followed wasn't the rush of flailing bodies that I had hoped for.

_Shit._

Yellow eyes snapped to me, and the one still standing pulled back its green lips in a toothy smile. It ran long pointed claws along the icy walls and leant forward, prepared to leap.

Hissing out a curse, I darted over the felled devil's flailing limbs.

It attempted to stand with a snarl, and I stomped a booted foot down hard on the inside of an arm. Grinding my foot in, I vaulted over the devil, feeling a flash of satisfaction as I heard a bone crack against the lip of the step, followed by a roar of angered pain.

Enserric shouted for blood, but I ignored him. There wasn't room to draw him. Wasn't time.

I darted up the stairs two at a time, hands braced against the walls and the air in my lungs impossibly cold. I kept my vicarious balance as I ascended, boots barely touching the ground before I was taking another leaping step.

I was so close to the door. So very damn close. I hadn't yet considered what was next; I only wanted to find more room.

 _The door!_  I could funnel them there, could force them to fight from the stairs. Let them worry about me and Enserric on one side and the drop on the other.

 _High ground;_  I thought with each ragged puff as I neared the top.

I just needed to deal with them first. The rest would come after.

But then a clawed hand wrapped around my bicep, shredding skin.

White hot pain lanced through me, wet warmth running down my arm in rivets. I cried out, tears springing to my eyes.

Desperate, I reached for Enserric, but it was too late.

I didn't have time to do anything more, as I was yanked back, away from the light shining beneath the door.

I fell back; felt myself falling down, down.

My satchel had been flung wide, fruit falling all around us.

As I fell and the world tipped, I felt a flash of blinding pain at the base of my skull. And then everything went black; the smell of blood and peaches mingling in the air.


	43. Chapter 43

My senses returned to me slowly, each one more painful than the last. The sound of wind funneling down a hallway first, then the fading echo of heavy footsteps. A lingering coppery taste coated my mouth —  _fantastic,_ I thought groggily;  _blood_. Over the wheezing of what had to be my clogged nostrils, I could hear nothing else.

Ice pressed against the skin of my cheek, and I probed the makings of a split lip with my tongue. Immediately, the movement set my face on fire, and I pressed myself harder into the perfectly flat floor, thankful for the cool chill.

Only once the pain faded did I open my eyes. Or I attempted to. They only widened a little — the swelling pulling a pained hiss from my lips.

What I saw through my bruised face did little to lighten my spirits.

It turned out my promised room was little more than a prison cell.

I swallowed, hardly surprised.

As I sat up — blinking blearily around me — my pulse quickened.

A hand to my hip revealed Enserric to be gone, and I felt the absence of him keenly, his amused humm gone from my mind.

The cell was a hollow cube; ice making up three of the four walls, from which bright light leached through. The fourth wall was a solid door of metal, light shining through from the small barred window and from beneath. Just like the door at the top of that killer flight of stairs — I touched a tentative hand to the back of my head, wincing — there was no visible handle or lock.

My since deepened as my hands continued their exploration of the damage done to my face, even as my eyes roamed for a means of escape.

I bit down on a cry as my fingers grazed my nose, flakes of blood crumbling from my nostrils. It was definitely broken.

_Great._

I would have clenched my teeth had my jaw not been a throbbing mess of agony, too. But I couldn't let myself panic. No, I needed to keep my wits about me. First, I would assess the extent of myy injuries, and then I would figure out what to do next.

 _I've been in worse situations,_  I assured myself. But even as I thought it I knew that wasn't quite true.

Never had I been so alone. And so utterly unprepared ffor whatever was coming up next 

I was flying blind.

And I realised, with sinking clarity, that it wasn't just Asmodeus that was responsible for the situation I was in.

It was my own damn fault.

I wanted to cover my face in my hands, but even that hurt too much.

I gritted my teeth.

"Stop wallowing," I reminded myself with a hiss. "Escape first, sook later."

I searched for something — anything — to help; to escape or heal, I wasn't picky. But my satchel was gone, my pockets empty, and there was nothing in my little cell but an empty bucket and some stained clothes. I picked through them, but they were in even worse condition than the ragged mess that had become of Valen's tunic. My sleeve was torn, stained with blood, tacky and slick against the shredded mess of my arm. My bicep pulsed with pain with each of my movements, and I grimaced as I peeled away the material.

What I found beneath wasn't pretty.

I felt the room shift around me as blood began flowing freely again. I immediately clamped my hand down hard against the mess of torn skin, blood welling between my fingers.

Huffing through my broken nose, I swore, before I began binding my bicep with the rags available to me, each movement bringing a fresh wave of pain. Once I was sure it was tight enough — fingers prickling with creeping numbness — did I tie off the rags with teeth and hands. Done, and breathing heavily, I crawled to the edge of my cell, bracing my throbbing arm against the cold wall, desperate for any relief.

But the win was short lived; I still needed to fix my nose… somehow.

I must have drifted off at some point, because I awoke with a jolt, pain cascading through my body.

_Oh, that's right…_

I winced at the walls, trying to gauge if the light had shifted or changed. Squinting skeptically, I couldn't see any difference.

I sat there for far too long — attempting to work up some semblance of courage — before I eventually began moving a hand gingerly across the mess of my face. I took a steadying breath, hissing between gritted teeth as every graze of my fingertips sent a flash of burning pain through me.

But I forced my shaking arms to be steady, knowing what needed to be done. Bracing.

My fingers latched onto my nose, pain immediately lancing through me.

And I twisted.

A  _crack_  burst through my ears, my head, the room.

I didn't fight the growing darkness as it pulled me under, thankful for the blissful nothingness it promised.

When I came to, I still couldn't open both eyes fully, but my nose —  _my nose_! — I could finally breathe through it. Painful as it was.

But, again, the moment of relief was short lived.

I gingerly touched my arm, hissing at the pain that still pulsed beneath the blood-soaked rags. I knew, with sinking dread, that something more permanent would have to be done about it.

I spent the next couple of hours searching every inch of my tiny cell — barely wide enough to lie flat in — and watching for any shift of the light that shone through the thick ice. But the light didn't change, and I found no way to open the door from this side — not even a visible bolt that I might hope to unscrew. Beyond my cell, I could see nothing more than a long white hall; with floors, walls and a ceiling of the same smooth ice. I scraped at the wall around the door with a booted heel — with no success — and pounded on the door with my good arm, screaming into the hall until my throat was hoarse with every insult I could think of.

But nothing changed.

And nobody came.

The hours ticked by, and still the lighting didn't change; the room permanently enveloped in an icy blue glow from the world beyond.

Despite the constant light and the fear that had taken hold of my heart, I let exhaustion claim me. I dozed on and off, unwilling to consider the true reason  _why_  I was so tired — despite the pulsing heat that burnt through my arm.

I don't know how long I slept, but I woke with sweat on my brow, to the sound of my door scraping open.

Momentarily forgetting the pain, I scrambled back, leaning against the wall for purchase and reaching blearily for the empty space where Enserric should have been. At the empty space, I hissed again, eyes swivelling to the door.

Despite the noise, it was still locked tight. However, the small panel at the base — which I'd tried to force earlier, leaving my fingers raw — was now wide open.

Large masculine hands — human but for the black pointed nails and slightly reddish-brown skin — pushed a metal tray through the opening. Beyond, I glanced booted feet.

Not the barbed devils from before, then. My shoulders slumped in relief.

I tried to stand, but my legs shook so badly that I couldn't move. Instead, my eyes snapped up to the bars in the door, meeting the considering gaze of a man.

No, not a man; his devilish blood was all too obvious.

My heart stuttered in my chest at the memory of intense blue eyes that flashed through my mind, so very different to  _this_  tiefling's considering yellow gaze. His lips were pursed, and — as he ducked his head closer to the door to get a better look at me — my swollen eyes followed the bumpy ridges of his forehead. I traced the shape up to the four curled horns at the crown of his head, two curling back on top, and the others weaving behind his slightly pointed ears; long and black and perfectly symmetrical. Pitch black waves of hair fell into his eyes as we considered each other.

Despite the humanity I saw, there was no kindness. Only silent curiosity.

And I wondered, staring at this tiefling, if he'd been chosen just to mock me. To mock what I'd lost.

Eventually the skin around his light flecked eyes creased in a smile, but the expression was anything but friendly.

"What a sorry state for Cania's new ruler," he said.

I jolted at the voice, teasing and human.

I didn't think, didn't have the energy to say anything. Instead, I snarled at the smiling eyes, spitting at the door despite the tackiness of my mouth.

I heard a throaty chuckle, as his booted foot reached back into the room through the small opening. The tip of his toe pressed down on the edge of the metal tray, balancing there in warning.

I felt the grumble of my stomach — again, wondering at the passage of time — before snatching for the tray. His boot balanced for a moment more, before relenting.

I was pulling the food towards me when the little opening snapped shut.

From the other side, the eyes considered me again — as if waiting for  _something_  — before I saw his nose shrivel in distaste.

He scoffed.  _"You_ killed Mephistopheles?"

With a shake of his head, he turned away.

I heard his booted feet as they moved down the hall, and — straining to hear — I counted his steps, the sound fading well before I could gleam anything useful.

From then on, time passed slowly.

I spent three days in that cell fighting the truth of my arm — or at least I figured it was three, based on the meal pattern I'd begun to work out.

The lighting never changed, and the only sign of life outside of my four walls was the same tiefling who brought me food. I ate the decent parts of the half-moldy bread, and — though I practically begged him for them on the third day, much to his amusement — he brought me no medical supplies.

I wallowed in my own self pity, at first keeping my mind busy with thoughts of what Valen and Deekin might be doing, since finding me gone. And — when thoughts of them grew too much — I found myself imagining scenarios in which the yellow-eyed tiefling would come into my cell. And, despite myself, I found a smile curving my split lips as I imagined bending my metal food tray over his horned head, over and over, before finally escaping my tiny prison.

I had no other option but to sit there, letting the wound on my arm gnaw on my strength, and trying my best not to think about the constant throbbing that shot sparks of poisoned lightning through me. But worse than that was the growing panic — panic that the wound hadn't  _quite_  stopped bleeding.

I knew what it meant when blood continued to flow.

I kept one eye on the wound, either out of hope that I'd find the blood clotting, or from terror that I'd spy the first signs of infection.

By the fourth day I couldn't keep any of the food down, the smell alone causing me to vomit everything up into my waste bucket.

The disgust in the tiefling's yellow eyes that day had been palpable, and — if I'd had the energy — I would have laughed at his obvious discomfort.

By the fifth day, I didn't even respond to his approach.

I was sitting against the far wall of my cell, savoring the coolness of the icy wall.

I'd awoken from another fitfully sleep, finding my skin burning hot, burning with the kind of fire that made everything muddled. My injured arm hung limply at my side as I gazed at the door.

I could see movement beyond the bars, but — try as I might — I couldn't make myself focus. Couldn't bring myself to care.

 _Infected, infected, infected_ , my thoughts thrummed in time with every beat of my head.

I was going to die, alone in this cell, from a treatable injury; Asmodeus' —  _apparent_  — granted immortality, be damned.

The room swirled around me as I tried to focus through the haze, each of my breaths like swallowing broken glass. I felt bile bubble up in my throat, but knew there was nothing more to bring up as I pressed my face harder against the cool wall. I prayed for the spinning the stop.

 _Praying_. I felt my chest move in one silent, delirious chuckle. Praying was something I'd been doing a lot more of, lately.

Or rather, cursing.

Mainly cursing Asmodeus and the god's that had granted him his power. And then — when that was no longer enough — cursing Shaundakul, who had let him wear his face and bear his name.

The room felt as if it lurched again, and I groaned at the pain that shot through my body.

My eyes were fluttering closed when I heard the door scraping on ice.

My stomach roiled at the thought of more rotten bread.

I didn't want food.

I needed medicine. Clean bandages.

But then I heard the crunching of booted feet on the ice before me and real fear coiled in my chest.

My eyes snapped open, and I was met with the considering yellow eyes that had been my only company for the last week.

Except, now there were no bars between us.

The tiefling squatted before me, arms leaning on his knees.

My hands twitched towards the metal tray from yesterday, but my body didn't obey. I attempted a snarl, but it only came out a choked grimace.

His nose was creased in distaste, but still he wore his ever-present smirk.

I sat there, waiting for whatever was to come.

"You smell absolutely putrid," he told me.

I closed my eyes against the sound of his voice, against the thumping of my head. I heard him sniff faintly, nearer to me than I would have allowed under normal circumstances.

I felt him drawback sharply. "Hells, the tanar'ri I can smell underneath all that is almost worse than the vomit and blood," he hissed.

When I didn't respond, I faintly heard him swear under his breath, a frustrated grumble.

There was some movement before pain lanced through me, and I cried out as his clawed fingers wrapped around my arm. My eyes snapped open, and I saw black and white and red.

I tried to pull away, but he held me firm.

My head swam as my senses narrowed down on the fire burning across my bicep, at the shredded flesh sticky with blood.

His lips curved up into another smirk, granting me the sight of two pointed eye teeth as he considered my injury.

"Oh, isn't that just wonderfully gruesome," I swore at him half-heartedly, and he chuckled, tutting in amusement. "Such words from a lady."

I told him where to stick the words, stumbling over a too-thick tongue, despite the speed in which the room was now spinning. I was going to say more, but I had to bite back at my growing nausea. Pinpricks of light dotted my vision, my eyes stinging, and I clenched them shut against the pain, willing myself to stay conscious.

"...can't have you dying of something so minor," I heard him saying, before I realised that I'd missed something vital.

My arm erupted in pain again, as he peeled away my soaked tunic, and I felt my scream — more than heard it — as it escaped my lips. I thrashed and bucked, but he kept his grip on me, prodding at the raw skin he had revealed.

I felt the world around me narrowing, and — this time — I didn't fight it.

The last thing I saw was his long spaded tail — the tip lashing against the ice cold floor, bringing to mind another tiefling; an entire world away.


	44. Chapter 44

The yellow eyed tiefling was frowning when I regained consciousness, dark brows pulled down in deep concentration.

He looked younger up this close; skin smooth but for the pattern of scars that littered him. This close, I could see the notches in his horns, could smell the faintly ashy smell I'd come to expect of his kind.

As my senses returned to me one by one, I suddenly remembered to recoil at his nearness.

He held me in place, hands on my arm and brows pulling down tighter. He hissed for me to be still.

Pain, white hot and sharp, pierced through me, pulsing from my shredded arm. I tried to tug away again, to shield my injury from prying eyes and fingers alike.

"Be still," he hissed again, teeth gnashing in frustration.

"Go to hell," I managed to snarl back.

His eyes snapped up to me, amusement curling his lips in that sinister smirk, and I suddenly felt a laugh tearing its way up in my chest. It turned hysterical, a horrible hiccuping thing, tears squeezing from my eyes.

"Go to hell," I repeated through my growing laughter, barely recognising my own voice.

His smirk dropped away as his hand, cool to the touch, ran across my forehead, pushing aside the sweaty strands of my hair plastered there. Distantly, I wondered why his skin was colder than mine — didn't tiefling run hot? But then I heard him mutter something, before he shifted from my vision, his hard grip finally gone from my arm. As the room spun, I realised that I was lying on my side, in a place that wasn't my cell.

Yet more white walls of ice, though…

My laughter died as the pain became too much. I thought of fighting — or running — but knew that if I attempted to stand I would almost definitely topple over. With a whimper, I pulled my arm closer to my body, my knees closer to my chest.

"Give me your arm," he was back, his voice carefully even.

When I didn't respond, he grabbed for it again, dragging another cry of pain from my lips. Without any warning, he peeled the material away. Through my slowly healing nose, I could smell rotting meat and infection.

"More stubborn than an ox," he muttered, and I felt a distant swell of pride, despite the disgust lining his words. "Fighting them on the stairs…" His hair fell around his face as he shook his head.

Now was my chance to escape. Maybe the only chance I would get…

I hissed as a fresh jolt of pain ran up my arm and I let my head fall back in tired defeat.

_So much for fighting him…_

I faded in and out of consciousness as he cleaned my injury; the rags that had been Valen's tunic pulled away to reveal the gruesome damage the claws of the devil had wrought. His hands were not gentle, but nor were they unnecessarily cruel, and he worked quickly, prone to muttering to himself.

He gave me no warning when he began cutting away at dead skin, and I found my last reserves of energy as I bucked and kicked and hissed. He gave up quickly, leaving me panting and spent on the table, as he rifled through shelves somewhere to my right.

 _No more_ …

I groaned, attempting to sit.

The world listed. It felt as if the table shifted beneath me, and then suddenly I was tumbling forward. As the floor started rushing towards me, I heard the crash of glass and the sound of scrambling feet.

"Blast!" the tiefling hissed.

Hands grabbed me roughly — saving me from what would have been a painful tumble from the table.

Panting, I found the wall with my hand, bracing against the cool smoothness of it as I coughed, a horrible wet sound. The hands on my shoulders tightened.

When I finally had control of my body, the grip fell away.

I didn't attempt another escape, my pride now just as wounded as my body. Instead, I did my best to catch my breath, gasping where I sat.

Moments later the scar-lined hand was back in my face. I stared at the dark skin, tinted red. At the black nails filed into tips. And then at the shaved root in his palm.

I squinted, unable to identify it.

"Chew on it, you daft woman," he thrust the hand closer to me.

I glanced at him sceptically, blinking at the bright light of the room as it haloed his tail, wiry frame. He noticed my hesitation.

"And just why would I poison you, after all these days?" he pressed in amusement, as if reading my thoughts. And then, as a mumbled aside; "You'd be better off than me by far, if I let you die."

At the mockery in his tone, I snatched up the roots, stuffing them in my mouth and chewing through the dry bitterness of them. They scratched my throat on the way down.

I grimaced, but said; "Still better than that half-rotten bread you've been bringing me."

A surprised smile tugged at his lips, lighter than his smirk, but then he turned away before I could properly see it. When he turned back, he had more of the shaved root in hand. Passing it to me without a word, he returned his attention to cleaning my arm. Fresh blood was warming my side in rivets — all I had to show for my pathetic attempt at escape.

He muttered to himself, as he wiped the blood away, and — this time — he warned me before he cut at the last of the dead skin.

I hissed through the pain, chewing on more of the offered root, and marvelling at how quickly the fog was fading from my mind.

When he held up a needle and thread, eyebrow raised in challenge, I felt more like myself than I had in days. I pulled up a lip in a half-hearted snarl, but allowed him to continue.

Gritting my teeth as he worked, I finally took stock of our surroundings.

The room was similar to my cell in design, but larger by far. I didn't sit atop a table, as I had initially suspected, but a chunk of ice carved from the wall. Behind me were frozen shelves of jars and boxes, sterile and organised.

Hell's sickbay, it seemed.

Like everywhere else I had been, there were no windows; the sole door the same expanse of metal as my cell — no handle or lock in sight.

"You wouldn't get far," he chuckled, eyes still on my arm.

I felt myself tense at the accusation, before attempting a more relaxed posture… Or at least as relaxed as I could be, with that damn needle tugging and pulling at my skin.

He offered me another handful of the root, and — this time — I took a moment to analyse it; holding it up to the light and running my fingers over the hard fibres.

"Guklulla root," he said.

I shoved it in my mouth, embarrassed that he'd noticed my interest.

"Helps with pain, or infection," he told me, as if we weren't enemies. As if he wasn't about to march me back to my cell. He watched me from under his brows, smirking. "Going to write it in your little diary?"

I flinched at his words, feeling the absence of my belongings afresh.

"You read it?" I pressed, feeling suddenly bare before him.

He looked pleased at my discomfort.

"Not much to do when my ward is sleeping through the day," he shrugged.

"I'm sorry my slowly dying was boring to you," I snapped, flinching as he tugged the needle through harder than before.

He chuckled, yellow eyes flashing dangerously as he threaded the puckered flesh of my arm back together. It was going to be one hell of a scar.

I grimaced.

"So much for immortality."

He smirked again. "You won't have to worry about wrinkles," he told me. "But — my advice — maybe avoid angering our barbed friends, from here on out."

I tugged my arm away as soon as the thread was tied, before pointedly snatching the bandages off the slab beside me.

"You humans truly are grateful creatures, aren't you?"

The gleam in his eyes set my teeth on edge.

"Oh, I'm sure this was all from the goodness of your black old heart," I hissed as I wound the bandage around my arm with angry, jerking movements. "Devil's  _never_  have an ultimatum."

He laughed, shrugging — as if I'd just caught him with his clawed hand in the cookie jar.

"The boss man wants you ready for a fight, I'll make you ready for a fight."

I tried my best to school my features into careful indifference, but he noticed the poor attempt, his eyebrow lifting skeptically.

"Not that I think you'll be much good in one," he added far too casually, wicked smile firmly in place. "Tell me, did your tanar'ri fight  _all_  of your battles for you? Or is that just another rumour?"

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the obvious taunt for what it was, as I tied off the bandage with a resolute nod. It would do.

He scoffed, obviously disappointed in the lack of conversation. "Well, don't expect  _my_  help out there." His arms crossed atop his chest.

_Out there._

If we were going  _out_  at some point, my chances of escape were already lifting.

And if they were stupid enough to give me a weapon. Give me Enserric…

I tried not to let the hope show on my face.

When the tiefling eventually lead me back to my cell, and we descended down the spiral stairs with one of the barbed devil's in tow, I had to fight a smile at the distance he insisted remain between all of us.

 _No_ , I grimaced at the sting in my arm; I wouldn't be trying  _that_  again.

I just had to survive long enough for this apparent fight. Long enough to get outside. Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was running.

Whatever followed could only be better than here.


	45. Chapter 45

From that point on, every day a hot meal appeared in my cell. No doubt an attempt to help me heal faster, for whatever fight I was expected to take part in. Whatever the reason, I devoured it each time, licking the bowl clean, silently cursing the yellow-eyed tiefling anyway.

Stuck in the cell — that first day of  _finally_  getting better, and not worse — all I did was ponder who they would have me fight. But that line of thought left me with a pounding heart, filled with panic; the tiefling's mocking words from the day before — about relying too heavily on Valen — hitting closer to home than I had let on at the time.

From then on — instead of letting myself stew and panic — I stretched my injured arm and body; moving through the old training I'd learnt at Hilltop, all that time ago. As my strength returned, I began exhausting myself with harder and harder exercises; collapsing more than once a day in a heap of spasming muscles and sweat.

The days passed into weeks, and still I remained in my cell. I saw nobody but the yellow-eyed tiefling, who would sometimes watch my training with a mocking smile and some snide comment. But that door never opened. And I never left.

When the silence became too unbearable, I would curse the god's for letting this happen to me. Petty bitter words of anger, that always came back to Shaundakul. As the days passed, the words lost their bitter edge, and I found myself bargaining; quietly, so that the yellow-eyed tiefling couldn't mock me further.

I would do anything Shaundakul asked of me,  _anything…_  if he would only get me back to Valen. Like an idiot, I would wait for some answering tickle of wind, a shiver of power, but nothing ever came.

I didn't really expected an answer, and I never got one. But it became my routine, nonetheless. A way to unwind after a grueling workout. A way to fill the terrible silence.

I was alone — utterly alone, locked in silence — until it came time for the delivery of my food.

My solitude became so unbearable, that it got to a point that I almost relished the tiefling's company, terrible though it was. Which is why I was paying close attention, when I heard additional footsteps accompanying him.

If I was counting my meals correctly, it had been almost three full weeks, when he came to my door with extra muscle, yellow eyes flashing in warning.

In his shadow stood two of the barbed devils, and I forced myself not to visibly recoil from the door as it swung open with a groan.

For once, the tiefling remained silent, almost sombre, as he reached for me. Despite my snarl, I didn't fight him — there was nothing to fight him with, and nowhere to run.

He paused, eyes searching my own for sign of threat, before clasping his hand around my forearm. His grip was solid, and in that moment I was merely thankful that it wasn't the barbed devils reaching for me — the almost healed scar on my bicep itching uncomfortably at the memory of those claws.

He could have been a mute, for all he said to me, as we made our trip down the hall and up the stairs. I paid special attention to every detail as I was eventually lead towards a new room. The barbed devils remained outside, the yellow-eyed tiefling ushering me in without a word.

My knees buckled at the sight of the room he had taken me to, and he must have felt it, for his grip tightened before he finally released me. I stumbled away.

It was a bedroom — garish and heavily decorated, with white fur rugs, and a bone white armoire and mirror, with a matching four poster bed. The bed was decorated with sparkling silver sheets, cushions thrown about in an open display of wealth. In one corner of he room sat an impossibly large marble tub, steam rising from the surface.

I stared at the lavish space, filled with the kinds of comforts I never thought I'd see again.

"What is this?" I hissed at the tiefling, surprised at the hoarseness of my voice.

Before he could reply, two lithe forms slipped through the door, women with their heads bowed and eyes on their feet. The tiefling slammed the door shut at their entrance, causing one to jolt. Noticing, he grinned.

The women — hints of devilish heritage in the mottling of their skin and the curving of their ears — were dressed in clothes barely better than rags, and I forced myself not to resist as they reached for me. They clasped long fingers around my forearms, pressing themselves in on both sides.

I glanced at the tiefling again, the question from earlier still clear on my face.

"You stink," he said.

He said it so matter-of-factly, as if I hadn't stunk the entire month I'd already been in my cell. As if I didn't know I reeked of my own filth and blood and sweat, all crusted hard to my skin and ruined clothes.

The women directed me to the steaming tub.

I dug my feet in, pulling out of their grip and turning on the tiefling. The servants cowered at my strength, and I had a moment of satisfaction.

It was short lived.

He was standing at the door, arms crossed atop his leather vest, calm amusement in his eyes.

He saw the defiance, clear on my face.

"Where am I going to go?" I motioned around me, at the windowless room.

A sly smile curled his lips, as he considered me. The moments ticked by, all of us still. Eventually, he tipped his head in a mocking bow, before excusing himself. I released a sigh of relief only once the door closed shut behind him.

Once the three of us were alone, they stripped me naked, peeling my ragged clothes from me with no hint at their disgust. I tried not to let my surprise show at the harsh angles of my body, and found myself thankful that the meals had improved since the rotten bread rolls from my early days here.

I stepped into the warm water and they bathed me roughly, and then — to my horror — began to paint my face and body. Their brushes were unbearably cold and ticklish, and their grips were firm when I wriggled. I was only thankful that they did not paint more intimate parts of me, and it was only that — and the knowledge that they were only following orders — which stopped me from fighting against them. Even if I fled, there was nowhere to escape to — not with the tiefling and barbed devils at the door.

They offered no explanation as to why — no hint of whether this was another torment sent by Asmodeus.

So I stopped demanding answers, stopped fighting back, and let them prepare me for whatever was to come next.

I watched them in the mirror as they worked.

From the neck up, I was fearsome; my face adorned with paint and cosmetics — a black band of paint across my eyes and temples, lips as red as blood. I grimaced at my nose, at the bump that hadn't been there before, but — other than that — they'd managed to cover the bruises left on my skin. They had adorned my neck and ears with jewellery made from jagged bones, and as my hair had dried, they had teased it into a thick mane, braiding it in two rows atop my head.

From the neck down I was painted almost a solid red, with a mottled black pattern on the tops of my shoulders, my collar bones, my calves. What was left of my bitten nails were painted black, and — once my red-black paint had dried, they began binding my chest and body in black cloth.

Atop the cloth, they fastened armour — if you could call it that. What there was of it was heavier than I was trained to fight in, some kind of metal; designed more for show than practicality with unnecessary whorls and spikes. But it barely covered enough of me. I guess I should have been thankful that my chest and stomach were protected from whatever I was about to face, but my legs were practically bare but for the greaves they attached to my calves. I tried not to roll my eyes at the small platform on the black boots.

The cold air caressing my legs was enough to kindle my rage afresh, and the two women ignored my demands to wear the leather breeches I had come in wearing. They held my arms firm when I attempted to rip one of the ridiculous spiked pauldrons from atop my shoulder with a red painted hand, ignoring my snarl of contempt with downturned eyes. It was the terrifying shaking of one of the woman's hands — as she attempted to tighten something I had loosened in my frustration — that finally stilled me.

I looked like some kind of devil; right down to the very careful braiding of my hair, designed to imitate the curving bulk of horns. And my blue-grey eyes looked eerie and wild from behind the band of black cosmetics.

I was lifting a painted hand to rub at the blackened skin around my eyes, just as the door opened.

"I wouldn't do that," the yellow-eyed tiefling's reflection smirked at me. At his entrance, the women stepped back, heads bowed.

His return broke whatever spell had me transfixed to the mirror, and I whirled. Stomped towards him; my anger fuelled me. I didn't know what I was going to say; I just wanted to shout  _something_. But my anger was short lived as one of the barbed devils ducked into the room behind him. I stilled at the sight of its long clawed hands, immediately embarrassed at how easily I could be cowled.

But then I saw the tiefling flinch away from the devil too, his crossed arms drawing tighter to his chest as he positioned his back away from them.

_Interesting…_

I schooled my features carefully.

His eyes were roaming across me now, taking in what the women had done.

He opened his mouth to comment, but I beat him to it; "I look ridiculous," I seethed.

He smirked.

"You look more devil than me," he said.

I pretended not to notice that his skin tone complimented my paints nicely, as his tail lashed about behind him, the only sign of his discomfort at the barbed devil's proximity. He jerked his head towards the door.

"We're already late," he said impatiently.

That's when I noticed the extra layers to his usual armour, embellishments I hadn't seen on our trip up to this room; distracted as I had been. He too had dressed up — as if for battle.

I swallowed, ignoring his outstretched arm as he led me from the room, the devil's in tow. We left the servants to clean up the mess of paints and rags, door closing on hidden hinges behind us.

The halls we wound through were beginning to take shape in my mind, as we all eventually found ourselves in the large throne room from my first day here.

And — just like that day — Asmodeus was waiting for me.

I kept pace as we approached him, determined that he wouldn't see my fear.

He was leaning against the wall, appearing as he always had to me; as a kindly old man. But the face was all wrong, the eyes narrowed and the lips curved in a sinister smirk.

I faltered at a sudden flash of clarity, seeing him for who he was; red-black skin and all. I looked down at myself, realising with disgust that I had been painted in  _his_  image. Colouring and all. My eyes darted quickly to and from the yellow-eyed tiefling, and I wondered briefly at his heritage.

When I looked up, it was to the cocked grey eyebrow of the old man, the great devil hidden once more. I felt like a savage, faced with his simple brown robes.

"So, we're playing dress ups now?" I said, with more confidence than I felt.

I noticed as the ever-present smirk dropped from the tiefling's face, his stance shifting slightly. He glanced quickly at Asmodeus and then back.  _A warning?_

I lifted my chin, emboldened by my month in the cell. By my week staring death in the face, infection burning me up from the inside.

Asmodeus paused only momentarily, before throwing his head back and laughing. At that, the tiefling relaxed his stance.

"Dress ups?" Asmodeus eventually chuckled, motioning a hand towards me. "Is this look not fit for the ruler of Cania?"

My expression told him exactly what I thought of it.

I waited for him to offer some explanation. Some reason behind the change in the monotony that had become my day-to-day.

Eentually, he rolled his eyes, obviously displeased that I hadn't risen to the bait and asked him for more information.

If there was one thing I was learning about him, it was that he liked hearing himself talk. But not as much as he loved explaining his plans.

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of playing into it

I could see that the tiefling thought my defiance foolhardy, a sigh visible in the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

Asmodeus saw my eyes drift to the tiefling, and he smiled slyly.

"Ah," Asmodeus purred. "I see you've become acquainted with your jailer." He smirked again. "Did I pick well, dear Jane? I thought, why not choose someone you would find familiar?"

I stared back at him, offering him nothing. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it.

"Speaking of your demon," he continued, the look in his eyes making my skin crawl. "If you're holding out hope that he'll be coming to save you, I wouldn't waste your breath."

I narrowed my eyes.

At my stony response, his smirk simply turned sly. He fished something out of his sleeve, tossing it towards me.

My mouth went dry.

It fell to the floor slowly, the slip of torn paper landing at my feet.

Stomach dropping, I didn't need to read the words; I knew the messy writing. How could I not, when it was my own?

But I looked anyway.

_Be back soon._

Just three words on that little slip of paper. Three words that made my eyes sting and my stomach clench. Words meant for Valen.

_He never saw my note…_

Asmodeus chuckled, seeing the look on my face.

The horrible thing was, Asmodeus was wrong; I hadn't been holding out hope that Valen would save me. I had been holding on to the knowledge that he had known I hadn't wanted to leave him. That I had intended to return.

And I suddenly felt more alone than ever. My lip quivered dangerously.

_Don't let him see…_

Some small part of my stubborn brain forced my shoulders back, my chin up. And, as I looked him in the eye, I showed him just how much I hated him. Just how angry he had made me.

I saw the tiefling trying to make out what just what was so special about the slip of paper, curiosity clear in the line of his downturned lips.

"Oh, but you are such fun, Jane," Asmodeus chuckled. "But that isn't why I am here."

I crossed my arms atop my chest, mindful of the stupid spiked gauntlets. I lifted an eyebrow.

"No, I wanted to let you know that tanar'ri are pushing in on your territory, emboldened by Mephistopheles'  _unfortunate_  end," he waved behind him, a portal opening. "And it's time to protect what's yours."

The portal snapped into place.

And I realised I hadn't seen the last of the Blood Wars. Not even close.


	46. Chapter 46

The howling wind had long since replaced the beating war drums. And, over the wind, the cries of the dying carried.

The battlefield of ice and snow was littered with blood, interrupted only by the scattering of bodies, belong to both devils and demons alike. They stretched towards the horizon on all sides, empty eyes staring up at the white-grey sky of Cania.

Devils moved through the lines, finishing off demons unfortunate enough not to have died quickly, and leaving injured devils in desperate need of help. They didn't even bat an eye as they lined their pockets with anything of worth, from the fallen bodies of both their comrades and their enemies. Nobody moved the dead, and I suspected their bodies would litter the Wastes until the wind bleached their bones as white as the snow.

I picked my way through the mess, using the last of my lingering energy to keep my sword tip from dragging through the stained snow as I surveyed my surroundings.

I'd spent the last hour fighting as the devil's had, with swords and fists and brute, unrelenting focus, killing or maiming any demon who's path I crossed. At first I'd struggled identifying enemy from devil — of which the others seemed to have no such issue — but after a while, I found my rhythm.

To my horror, we'd been teleported right into the middle of the raging battle; me, my watcher and then the barbed devil's, the portal snapping shut immediately behind us. I'd had little choice but to help hold the line as the yellow-eyed tiefling had thrust a longsword that was not my own into my shaking hands, the force of demons bearing down upon us. I'd had little time to wonder at my apparent resistance to the brisk weather, as the first demon had singled me out, forcing me to defend myself.

As we had fought — the tiefling with knives, and me with the too-heavy longsword — I'd looked for opportunities to fall back; letting the devil's swarm around me towards their enemy. But my watcher's observant yellow eyes were always on me, his presence never far from my own. I found no opportunity to do anything other than survive.

And even that, only barely.

A bruise on my ribs — from a demon that had grappled me to the ice, only to find a throwing knife in his back — would make movement difficult for the next few days, and a cut along my cheek leaked blood into my painted eyes.

The paint itself had been surprisingly resilient. It had lasted, despite the sweat and blood, with only my joints flaking — knees and elbows dropping paint like little snowflakes of red and black. The most spoiled part of me were my hands — where my grip on the sword had rubbed my palms clean.

The exposed skin stung, impossibly cold, and I realised why the temperature of Cania's wastes hadn't frozen me to the spot, particularly given my risque outfit.

The paint was keeping the cold at bay.

And I knew that — even without my yellow-eyed shadow dogging my every step, even without endless expanses of nothingness on all sides — there was nowhere for me to go; not with the slowly peeling paint my only protection against Cania.

As I explored the battlefield, I shivered against the chill air, at the proximity of the other devils; a variable mismatch of races and genders. Despite others doing the same, the battlefield felt still, compared to the chaos that had raged only recently.

The tides had turned quickly in the devil's favour, the outcome determined long before we had even arrived. And, after we had gained enough ground and had killed enough of their numbers, the hordes of remaining demons had been forced to retreat. They'd fallen back, escaping through summoned portals, vicious snarls ringing through the humm of magic.

The easy-enough win made the need for my presence all the clearer. I wasn't here for any famed fighting prowess; I was here to show off, like a painted toy.

I suspected the devil's knew it too, and I kept the sword in my hand, not liking the way they looked at me.

I only stopped when I found an Erinyes' crumpled form, death-grey face gaping up at the sky. But it wasn't her that gave me pause, but what she had clasped in her hand.

It wasn't anything to look at. Certainly nothing like the one I had owned.

But it was a might better than the sword in my hand.

I claimed the longbow, grimacing as I grazed her already cold skin. Stringing it to my back, I then relieved her of the half-empty quiver.

"Like a carrion bird," the yellow-eyed tiefling chuckled from behind me.

I didn't turn until I was equipped, my lips pulling back in a snarl when I saw his ever-present smirk. He didn't seem concerned that I had attained an additional weapon. Didn't seem to even question it.

It wasn't like there was much I could do, here and now. I could kill a couple of them, maybe. But I couldn't take on an army.

His knives we're back in their spots, and he looked just as put together as he had the moment we'd left the throne room.

That was, until I looked closer.

His eyes were pinched, lined with the shadows of battle, and his shoulders were slumped in exhaustion. I suspected he'd hurt his shoulder at some point, as he held his right arm against his stomach, in a stance that wasn't quite as casual as he was hoping it looked.

I smirked right back at him, pleased to see he was having almost as terrible a time as me.

I wandered through the battlefield for a while longer, looking out for anything that might be of use. A knife for my boot. A lockpick. A potion. But the tiefling kept his bright gaze on me, standing so close that I could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, and I had no opportunity to claim anything of worth.

Eventually, a portal opened — so near that it could only be for us — and he ushered me through. The barbed devil's weren't far behind.

On the other side, the throne room was empty, Asmodeus gone.

The tiefling immediately took my weapons, hands reaching for them before I'd even had a chance to reorient myself.

Despite never having been far from each other on the battlefield, he searched every inch of me thoroughly, patting me down and ensuring I hadn't hidden anything  _anywhere._  My back had been ramrod straight, my lips pulled back in a grimace, as he'd offered me a wink before leading me back to my cell. I made a mental note of the fact he hadn't checked my wildly braided hair.

After that, the days passed as usual.

They left me in the paint and what apparently passed as armour. As time passed, the red-black colour peeled and flaked, littering my icy cell floor, and the dark colours smudged across my body.

When he'd brought me my meals the second day, the sight of me had elicited a surprised laugh, leaving my skin red with embarrassed anger. I was thankful he hadn't been able to see it beneath the mess of paints.

It was three days after the fight that they came for me again; the barbed devils silent behind the tiefling. Like the time before, they waited as the two women stripped me, washed me and then painted every inch of my bare skin afresh.

I was pleased to see the bow and longsword in the tiefling's hands when I was finally ready, and snatched them from him right there in the throne room. I was surprised when he let me.

He pushed me through first, a splayed hand on my upper back.

The fight was the same. Another skirmish with the demons. Another white battlefield.

This time, I managed to acquire and hide a lockpick in my hair, losing the tiefling in the crowd of pressing bodies for a few scant minutes. And — though I knew it would do no good against the lock-less doors in the castle — I couldn't help but smile.

It was the next time they dressed me for battle and pushed me through the portal, that I slipped up.

I'd been fighting alongside the tiefling, as always, when a particularly agile demon had attacked him from behind. Aiming, I'd released an arrow, my response purely automatic. The arrow flew true, piercing her through the throat only moments before her knife would have found purchase in his back.

Our eyes met amidst the chaos.

He'd seen.

The surprise on his face mirrored my own, before he'd tipped his head with a feral smirk, rounding on the dying female and finishing the job.

When we returned that night, my meal was twice as large as usual, and I finished every bite of it; ravenous after the gruelling day. He didn't say anything as he dropped it off, his face cool and unreadable.

Afterwards, I took the lockpick I had hidden in my braids, stabbing it through the splintered timber of the waste bucket for safe keeping.

The next time we were forced to fight, there was slick ice below our feet — the frozen lake making each movement of our feet dangerous. There'd been a keep at our backs, polluting the sky with smoke. Here, the army of demons had been at their thickest.

We fought desperately that day, our booted feet finding no purchase on the ice, whilst our enemies held on with clawed feet or bore down on membranous wings. We'd been forced against each others backs as one such demon had swooped at us with outstretched claws. It was only because of the added balance gained by him standing hard against my back, that I think we survived.

Many others hadn't been as fortunate. And it was with only one of the barbed devils that we returned. The tiefling could barely hide his amusement at the loss, the smirk stuck on his lips as they led me back to my cell. When he returned later that day with my double-serving of food, I caught him whistling. The food had been piping hot, fresh from the stove.

The days that we didn't leave to fight in the seemingly pointless skirmishes, I trained. I trained harder than I ever had before.

I knew I couldn't keep this up indefinitely, at some point my luck was going to run out.

But I needed to survive as long as I could. Long enough to sneak out a weapon. Long enough to fight a battle near a settlement and escape. Long enough to do  _something…_

I didn't want to die. But I certainly didn't want to remain here forever.

And nobody was coming for me.

They didn't even know that I needed saving, let alone  _where_  to start looking.

No. I was going to have to get out of this one alone.

It was by the seventh or eighth battle that I was surprised to find a city at our backs. A great glistening walled city, with spires of ice and glittering towers.

"Mephistar," the tiefling had told me when we'd landed amongst the rows of devils. At my blank look, he'd added with a mocking laugh; "The capital, you ignorant berk."

_Of course Mephistopheles had named it after himself…_

Across a field of ice, ridges of snow interrupted the horizon. It was between two such peaks, that an army of demons waited. I could hear the drums Valen had recalled once, long ago. The sound carried on the wind along with the swell of snarling voices.

The battle had started like any other; the two armies clashing, the sound like a roar of thunder.

And, like always, I'd kept away from the front lines; the tiefling seeming content to pick off the demons that pushed through the wall of defending bodies.

His knives would flash, cutting down any demon that managed to get too close for my bow or longsword to be of use. We fought with the fluidity of those that had done so many times before, covering each other's weaknesses and leaving those that we knew the other could handle. It almost felt like old times. Almost.

As we fought together, I would almost forget that he was following the orders of Asmodeus. That he fought at my side only because he'd been commanded to keep me alive. And that, when this fight was over, he would march me back to my cold empty cell without a thought about what I wanted.

He fought differently to what I had come to expect of a devil or demon. He was agile, quick and calculating. His tail would extend far behind him for balance, as he would bounce on the balls of his feet. He would never seek out an enemy, but would wait for them to fall into the trap of underestimating his smaller frame.

Amidst the chaos of the fighting, I almost didn't hear it; the sound of my heart hammering in my ears, as if keeping time with the drums, almost drowning everything else out.

But I think some part of me would always recognise the sound.

I heard the roar of anger, followed by the thud of something heavy connecting with a body. I could see the devil's nearby pushing in on the attacking demon, solidifying their defense.

Except it wasn't just any demon.

His flail spun, connecting with a hook-clawed devil, before charging head first into the next. His armour was different — a simple black suit of plate mail, no different from that worn by any of the other demonic cannon fodder. Fresh blood covered most of his pale face, drops of it running down his chin.

But I would recognise the tiefling's blue eyes and mess of red hair anywhere.

It was impossible. Yet there he was.

My voice was a whisper, drowned out by the thudding of my heart.

"Valen."


	47. Chapter 47

"Valen."

Before I could even think, I was charging in his direction.

The yellow-eyed tiefling snarled a curse as I left him to fight the arrow demon we had both been attempting to bring down. Now that it was just him, the vicious four-armed creature turned its full attention on him with a wicked laugh.

I knew, from past fights, that the arrow demon wouldn't go down easily. Even though I suspected the tiefling would have the upper hand in the end, the demon was going to keep him busy for a while. Dodging the blades of four swords wasn't fun for anyone…

So my retreat was met with no resistance.

As I ran, there was a moment where I could see Valen clearly — could count the steps separating us — but then he was suddenly gone.

As if he had ducked and not come back up…

My heart lurched as I pushed myself to the limit, willing my legs to move as fast as they could.

I wove through devils, and dodged the handful of demons determined enough — or stupid enough — to have made it this far into the horde. Meanwhile, my eyes searched desperately for the red hair I had glimpsed, against all odds. Against all logic.

_Please don't be dead._

I faltered at the thought of finding each other after so long — after getting  _so close_  — only for him to fall now.

Just as quickly as dread had settled in, relief washed over me. I found only battered devil's corpses lying where I'd seen Valen last.

I paused.

Gulping in desperate lungfuls of air, I tried to regain my bearings, even as bodies rushed past me, trampling their fallen comrades. They devils paid me no mind, intent only on the attacking army.

"Valen!"

I shouted his name, turning. The longsword in my hand shook as I turned again, searching desperately.

And then…  _there_!

My heart sung at the sight of him.

Valen stood atop the frozen river, a snarl on his lips as he stared down two orc-like devil's. They each held massive swords in their hands and, as I approached, I realised their beards were made up of rotting green tentacles. Overhead, a blue skinned imp was making passes at Valen, sharp claws distracting from his two larger — and far more dangerous — enemies.

From the looks of things, he'd fallen down an embankment; the soft snow at the edge having given out under his weight. Below, I could see the marks in the ice where he'd landed, see evidence of a scuffle that had broken out. A tiefling with four curving black horns — not unlike those sported by the yellow-eyed one — lay dead in a pool of her own blood, armour dented in at her chest.

Transfixed, I was almost collected by a passing devil; it's hard shoulder catching my side as it shoved past. I stumbled, barely managing to keep on my feet.

Core tense, I retraced Valen's path down the embankment, noting where the snow was already compacted from his tumble. My feet almost slid out from under me more than once, as I edged into a controlled skid down the dangerous drop, fresh snow falling away beneath me.

But I finally made it — and upright, too.

At the bottom, I found the ground firm beneath my feet, the river frozen solid.

I looked back to see I hadn't been followed. Nobody would be stupid enough to, when there were plenty of easier kills happening up above.

Nobody save my yellow-eyed shadow.

I didn't have long…

Ahead, Valen let out a shout of pure effort. My head snapped back in their direction, and I saw his flail as it connected with one of the bearded devils, sending the creature sprawling. The win was short lived, however, as the imp took the opportunity to clasp ahold of one of his horns. He shouted out, reaching up to bat the creature away with a hand, as the determined imp pulled, wings flapping hard.

I didn't give the other bearded devil a chance to push his advantage.

Charging, I slid the last few feet, slicing the devil across the back of the knees. Using the tug of resistance in my sword, I stopped my skid across the ice, gritting my teeth in effort.

The devil shouted out, and I could hear the pain and surprise.

Falling to his knees, he attempted to twist towards me, his beard of maggot-ridden tentacles reaching desperately. I saw slime, bright and green, dripping from them.

_No thanks!_

I didn't let them get anywhere near me.

Stepping into my next attack — mindful of both the dangers of the slick terrain and the devil's reach — I stabbed up, just below his ribs, and felt as my sword pierced his kidney.

 _Good._  Relief washed over me.  _The kidney's in the same place as a humans._

Pulling my sword free with a grimace, I watched as Valen reached out, grabbing onto the imp by a leg. He flung him to the ground with an irritated snarl, the creature shrieking at the impact. Lifting a foot; clad in midnight black armour, he brought it down on the struggling devil hard. Once. Twice. By the third time it was dead.

I was finishing off the other bearded devil when I heard Valen approaching, followed by the slight intake of air he took before every big swing. I felt a thump of panic.

I didn't think.

Diving over the devil, I landed awkwardly on my wrist, cursing the too-hard ground. Leaning into it, I barely managed to jump back onto my shaky feet. I spun, arms stretched out at my sides for balance, longsword long gone, dropped in my haste.

But I knew I didn't need it.

Valen was stepping over the devil, each of his movements careful and slow, mindful of the slippery ice. He was at a disadvantage, clad in his heavy black armour.

Blood coated most of his face, his flail, his armour, as he flicked the heads of his weapon once, sending specks of red flying in all directions.

But then — looking into my face — he froze.

Blue eyes blinked at me, the only movement other than his flicking tail. His face was slack with disbelief. As if his eyes were telling him a lie that his mind was desperately trying to pull apart.

I knew full well what I looked like, covered head to toe in paint.

I could hear the sounds of fireballs hitting their targets in the distance, the sound of shouts as the battle raged on. But I kept my eyes firmly planted on the tiefling before me.

"It's me," I said, at the same time my name left his lips.

He breathed my name, his voice reaching into places I had long ago closed off.

The crack of a smile escaped him for a moment, but it wavered, before dropping entirely; chased away by panic.

"How?" I cried, hope lifting my voice.

As I spoke, I felt the ice beneath me shift.

Fire exploded, staining the sky red for one terrifying moment. I could feel the heat against my back, even at this distance.

I staggered, arms flung wide for purchase as Valen's eyes snapped over my shoulder.

As I turned, I heard the demon's as they called a retreat; the blast of their mighty horns cutting through the din of battle.

"Hellfire," he cursed.

Desperately, our eyes found eachother again.

My heart broke, even as it soared; because he was  _here._ And that was a very bad place for him to be.

_Why? How?_

I heard the roar of devils as they pushed their advantage; most of them immune to the fiery havoc they had created. It wasn't often that they resorted to such spells.

_They must be desperate…_

Valen stepped closer, tightening his grip on his flail. Fear lined my gut. But this time, I was not afraid for myself — he didn't mean to harm me. Not since I'd released him from his demonic taint would I ever worry about that again.

I could see the determined set to his jaw. The fire in his eyes. And I could tell that he was determined to stay. Determined to fight every last one of them — devils and demons — right by my side.

And he would fight until his dying breath, until they overwhelmed us.

I couldn't let that happen.

"Go."

My stomach lurched as the command left my lips. It was the last thing I wanted to say to him. But more horns sounded the demon's retreat, and I knew it was the only thing I could say.

Frowning, his eyes darted to me and then back to the edge of the ravine. He planted his feet, lifting his weapon.

I followed the line of his narrowed gaze, only to see the yellow-eyed tiefling. Fear clenched my stomach.

He was lowering himself down the soft snow onto the hard ice below, no doubt making it look a hell of a lot more coordinated than I had.

His knives were still in hand, filling me with cold dread. I knew how good his aim was with them.

I reached for my bow, notching an arrow.

I swallowed…

…And then I trained it on Valen.

Blue eyes widened in disbelief.

Maybe this would buy him some time. Maybe it would stop the yellow-eyed tiefling from understanding what was happening.

I willed Valen to see that I was trying to save him, my eyes pleading.

When he didn't move, I jerked my head towards the distant humm of portals. At the retreating demons.

"Go!" I begged him again, voice breaking.  _Don't die here._

A sob caught in my throat at the hurt on his face, at the pain in his eyes. I flinched as he reached out a shaky hand towards me.

Shaking my head, tears made tracks through my makeup, stinging my eyes.

"Please," I begged. "Don't die here."

His gaze trailed over every inch of my face, and still he made no move to leave.

Fear flared hot and bright inside of me.

He couldn't stay.

I couldn't follow.

My prison was hell —  _literally_  — but what would wait for me beyond the thrumming portals, with the demon army, would be many times worse than the last couple of months.

Mephistar stood at our backs, spires sparkling like cut diamonds, an army protecting the citadel's borders to their dying breaths. Ahead, the glowing portals of the retreating forces hummed. And, all around, the straggling devils and demons fought; the sounds growing more and more desperate as the end of the skirmish drew near.

There was nowhere to run. Not for me.

But  _he_  could.

And, if he left now, there would be another fight. Maybe another chance.

Just not today.

I saw him considering his options, eyes running over every inch of my face. I could hear the yellow-eyed tiefling's boots landing on the ice.

"I  _will_  find you," he promised. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. "Promise me you will not give up."

My heart swelled, knowing that he would understand everything that I had gone through. That he had lived it all… and then some.

And he had survived it.

I thought of the four walls on my cell, of the endless fighting. I thought of how close I had come to giving up, many times over.

But, each day; I finished the meal left for me. Each time I picked up the sword that was not my own, and I fought tooth and nail to survive.

No matter how close to giving up I had gotten, I hadn't given up; waiting for an opportunity to escape. To  _try_.

Even knowing such an opportunity might never come, I had held out hope.

"I promise," I whispered to him.

And I did.

With a frustrated snarl, Valen turned, running back towards the edge of the ravine, towards the closing portals. I could hear the magic hum of their numbers lessening with each moment and willed him to hurry.

Relief and heartache warred within me, as I turned on shaky legs…

… only to find the yellow-eyed tiefling changing course, drawing his knife back, ready to throw. His eyes were narrowed, focused on Valen's retreating back.

"No!" I shouted.

I trained my arrow on the yellow-eyed tiefling.

Valen faltered for a moment, thinking my cry for him. His eyes were wide as he turned back, as he took in my bow's new target. I saw his eyes flash in appreciation, and he nodded once — trusting me to handle the enemy — as he returned to his escape.

The yellow-eyed tiefling skidded to a halt, head swinging from me to Valen, and then back again. I watched as confusion and surprise shifted to amusement.

He lifted his hands in mock defeat, knife dangling loosely between his fingers.

A smirk curled his lips as his eyes roamed lazily to Valen again, watching as he scrambled up the wall of snow.

I saw his fingers shift, the wiry muscles in his arm bunching.

And I drew my bow tauter.

"Don't you fucking even," I hissed.

I considered killing him, just to be sure he wouldn't throw that damn knife. But then I saw the barbed devil approach the edge of the ravine, searching for us.

And then Valen disappeared; over the edge, and out of sight.

_He's gone._

And, with the thought, I felt a sudden keening loneliness, so sharp and cruel it felt like my heart had been cleaved in two.

The fight immediately went out of me.

I dropped the bow and my knees followed, hitting the ground hard.

I didn't resist when the tiefling — the tiefling that was not my own — approached, kicking my weapons away. He pulled me up with a hand around my upper arm.

I should have been worrying about the consequences of my actions. Instead, I thought of how Valen had sounded, saying my name. How he had looked at me.

The yellow-eyed tiefling's hiss dragged me from my thoughts, his bright eyes calculating as he looked around at the carnage Valen and I had wrought. Swearing, he kicked the bearded devil I had punctured the kidney of onto his back, his face a disgusted grimace as he took in the unseeing eyes of the devil.

"What would dear old grandad say?" he tutted.

I barely registered the admission of his lineage to Asmodeus.

The casual reveal would usually have me smirking; my suspicions verified. But I didn't have the energy left to care.

I let his clawed hand curl harder around my arm, nails pinching my skin, as he pulled me towards the edge of the ravine, towards the barbed devil.

Silently, we scrambled up the snow together, climbing towards our waiting portal.

I wondered distantly if Valen had gotten to his own in time, before we stepped through the humming black disk.

As always, we stepped out and into the throne room.

But today, I realised, looking around at the familiar room — at pointed ceiling and the walls of ice that sparkled as if cut from diamonds — where we were.

They were keeping me in the dungeons in Mephistar.

And the demons were pushing closer to the capital — to  _me_  — with every battle.

…And I didn't know if that was terrifying, or something else entirely. Something far more hopeful.

Because Asmodeus had been wrong. Valen  _was_  coming.

But so was a whole godsdamned army of demons.


	48. Chapter 48

As the yellow-eyed tiefling left me in the cell — silent and stony faced — I could see the inner workings of his mind behind those cunning eyes. Just as silently, I stood there, watching as the door closed between us with a resolute thud.

He held my gaze for a moment longer; through the barred window in the door. I stared right back. My shoulders lifted with each defiant breath, chin held high. I wasn't going to ask forgiveness for what I had done — consequences be damned.

He shook his head once. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

No doubt to tell Asmodeus about Valen.

At the mere thought of the tiefling's name, my stomach fluttered with a swarm of roiling, conflicting emotions.  _How the shit did he get to Cania? How did he_ know  _to come?_

I knew — as soon as the yellow-eyed snitch told Asmodeus — we would lose the element of surprise.

_Would they let me out to fight again, knowing that Valen was part of the demon's never-ending army?_

I slammed a palm against the cold metal, ny mind a whirlwind of thoughts

Knowing that worrying wasn't going to change anything, I scrubbed my face with a wrist. Rubbing the ruined makeup from my wet lashes, the black band of paint from my eyes.

I waited out the rest of the day, sitting cross-legged on the floor. I waited for the yellow-eyed tiefling to return — with my dinner, with taunting news. With  _something_.

But he didn't come.

And, eventually, my exhausted body couldn't keep up with my racing mind. I fell asleep, curled against the door.

I drifted in and out for hours. And then — when I was stiff and sore — I moved through my stretches, grimacing as my aching muscles protested.

Yet still no one came.

I slept some more, waking to the rumbling of my empty stomach.

When nothing happened, I paced. And when I felt as if I must be wearing a track in the icy floor, I pushed my chest flat against the door to see the world outside my cell. Peering down the hall, I searched for any sign of the missing tiefling — the flickering of a candle in the accompanying room, the sound of a turning page, footsteps pacing in boredom. Even his damnable whistling!

But there was nothing.

Eventually, slept claimed me again, curled up with my hands around my clenching stomach. I dreamt of donuts and steaks, waking to a tacky mouth that felt as if it were full of cotton balls.

My lips were so dry they were cracking, and I was eventually forced to lick the icy walls of my cell for moisture — something I hadn't needed to do since I'd saved the damned tiefling's life all those weeks ago.

And still nobody came. There was no food, no water. Nothing.

I shouted through the door, demanding attention. Cursing everyone and anyone. But — if anybody heard — they didn't care.

"So  _these_ are the consequences," I muttered as my stomach clenched in hunger.

I tried to remain calm — they didn't want me dead. But I couldn't help but worry that the devil's wouldn't know how long a human could last without sustenance. Hells,  _I_ didn't know. It felt as if my stomach were eating itself!

Yet more time passed, blurring until I wasn't sure if it had been four days, or ten. And still I was alone.

I reminded myself what Valen had asked of me, and I kept my promise. I didn't give up. I held onto the hope he'd awoken in me as I waited for someone to come.

_Surely they will have to remember me soon?_

I came to sleep more; both for something to do and to reserve what little of my energy remained. My stomach would growl insistently, and I would clutch at it, pulling this way and that in an attempt to silence it, but nothing would work. It was a slow pain, leaving me feeling drained and empty.

As I slept — which was happening more and more — I dreamt of my time fighting in the Blood Wars. Of fireballs crashing down into the snow and ice. I imagined I felt the river lurch beneath me, as it had when Valen had been forced to flee.

I don't know how long passed, when I eventually woke to a sound.

My eyes fluttered, mind foggy.

I almost ignored it.

But then I heard it again.

 _Claws._ Two sets on the stairs.

My whole body tensed.

It wasn't the yellow-eyed tiefling — he always wore boots. And, even then, he never made a sound. Was there  _another_ barbed devil?

My eyes snapped open, and I worked up the energy to sit.

Blinking, I forced the haze from my mind, licking my mouth and grimacing at the thickness of my saliva.

_Could it be someone with food?_

I scrambled to the door, hands curling around the bars as I strained to see down the hall. Hearing the hissing of voices, I pressed my cheek harder against the metal, eyes watering with the effort.

And then I saw them.

They prowled down the hall, long filth covered claws dragging along the walls.

Definitely not the tiefling or barbed devil.

_Shit!_

I staggered back, mind reeling at what I'd seen.

There were two of them, as I'd suspected.

But two  _demons_.

I swallowed, heart racing.

My heart cried out in relief —  _Valen must be nearby!_ — even as my mind struggled to piece together what it had seen. What it  _meant_.

Their bodies had been so gaunt; almost skeletal, but for the form-fitting ebony leather that had covered every inch of them like a stretched skin. They'd seemed to take up the entire hallway, all oversized extremities and massive heads. Jutting from their skull had been a single horn-like growth, curved forward and downward; the signature of their kind.

I'd seen them on the battlefield before, moving through the devil's ranks as if they were ghosts. Killing with a quiet intensity; displaying control that was so very unlike their kind.

But they'd never been allowed near us, and I'd never had to fight one.

The devil's always convened at the sight of them, cutting the near-silent assassin's off, as they'd sought out their prey. As they'd sought  _me_ out, the yellow-eyed tiefling had once teased me. And I realised that maybe it hadn't been meant entirely in jest.

I searched the room for something —  _anything!_  — to use as a weapon. But there was just me, and the waste bucket, and I was shit out of luck.

But then I remembered; that wasn't  _entirely_  true.

_The lockpick!_

I scrambled for it, uncaring of the noise I made. They already knew I was here — their menacing red gazes had snapped right to my door as they'd rounded the bend.

I pulled the pick from the timber.

Grasping it deftly in my hand, I waited by the wall.

I forced myself to breathe evenly, even as my heart felt as if it would surely explode. Closing my eyes, I orayed that they wouldn't be able to open my cell. That Valen would find me before they found a way in. I could smell them, they were so close. Like rotten flesh and filth. I clenched my eyes shut tighter again as the last of my hope left me.

The door's hidden lock clicked open without any resistance.

My eyes sprang open, and I swallowed my panic, willing my mind blank as I gripped the lockpick harder.

The door pushed inwards slowly, and I let it. Scraping against the icy floor towards me, it shielded me from the terrifying sight of them.

I forced another even breath, reality setting in.  _There would be no Valen swooping in to save the day._

_I was on my own._

The metal of the lockpick cut my skin, I was clenching it so tight

I heard the click of claws in the cell.

I made my move. The only move I had.

Snarling, I kicked the door with all my might.

It caught the demon in the side with the heft of it.

Pushing my advantage, I darted around the door, ramming the lockpick straight up and into the stunned demon's chin.

Up close, I could see each of its jagged teeth. Its mouth was so full of them that they seemed to take up half of its head.

It glared at me, as if not understanding what had happened. And — for a sickening moment — I worried that it hadn't been enough.

But then it reared back, howling in anger. In pain.

My pathetic excuse for a weapon pulled straight out of my grasp, as the demon staggered back into the other.

I kicked a heel into its lower leg, heard a bone snap, before slamming the door once more. The metal bounced off the demon's shoulder.

I could hear the low hiss of the other one cursing, as it pushed past its injured ally.

I darted to the other wall, attempting to flee, but there was no way past them. They were too big, the hall too narrow.

Cursing, I backed into the room, grabbing the waste bucket with a grimace. I flung it at the face of the realing one, as the other tried to shoulder past.

It paused with a disgusted hiss and I backed up as far as the room would allow.

Unable to take my eyes off the claws, I swallowed at the sight of the impossibly sharp tips.

I wondered how much it would hurt. If it would be quick.

I wondered if Valen would find me after.

 _I hope not._ A bitter huff of laughter escaped me.  _I doubt they give foot soldiers resurrection rods…_

I closed my eyes, back pressed hard against the cold ice.

Suddenly, the pain-filled howling was gone. There was only the thumping in my ears. And then —

"Holy hell, woman," I heard a familiar voice. "Is that smell  _you_?"

_Enserric?_

I pried my eyes open.

And there he was, sticking through the middle of the demon's chest, red tip glowing in greeting.

The demon glanced down in confusion, clawed hands grasping at the protruding sword. He looked up again, red eyes catching mine in outraged disbelief. I smiled.

There was a horrible sucking noise, and the metal tip disappeared from its chest once more.

Seconds later, the demon toppled sideways. With a single shudder, it was dead.

"Valen, I—" I was already reaching for him, ready to crush him against me.

But then I saw who it actually was. Who had  _really_  saved me. My smile dropped.

He smirked, yellow eyes flashing as he took in my crestfallen expression.

" _You_." Instead of the rush of gratitude that had been about to leave my lips, my voice was a bitter hiss.

I snatched my outstretched arms back from him.

"You look shit," he said, eyes running down my body. Still, there was only that smirk, his feelings on the matter unclear.

I shoved his shoulder, snarling. "That's what happens when you don't eat, for… for…" I threw my arms in the air. "For godsknows how long. Where  _were_  you?"

"Busy," he immediately snapped, smirk gone.

And for the first time, I saw true anger in his eyes. No hint of his usual amusement. I swallowed, suddenly remembering just who he was.  _What_ he was.

Despite my response, he pushed Enserric into my shaking hands.

There was a flash of red light. I felt a rush of strength. It was like warmth returned to my limbs. Like I hadn't been wasting away without food. It felt right. I sighed in relief, accepting the stolen energy Enserric lent me, even knowing I was going to regret it later. Beyond thankful, I didn't resist when I felt his concerned probing as he searched my mind.

The tiefling rolled his eyes at my silence. "As grateful as ever, I see," he muttered bitterly.

He'd already drawn his knives, the haste in which he'd equipped himself belying his casual tone.

I steeled my expression, levelling Enserric at the tiefling's throat.

"Why did you save me?" I pressed through gritted teeth.

I hoped he didn't see how the sword shook.

'Careful,' Enserric warned me. 'He's a slippery one.'

The tiefling raised an eyebrow, eyes considering as he took in my stance, my shaking hand, my weapon.

He stared me down, down the length of my own blade.

A moment ticked by, and then — eyes hard — he stepped away. Completely ignoring the threat.

_Prick._

Moving past the demons, he leant his head around the corner of the door, tail balanced behind him.

Watching him through narrowed eyes, I suddenly noticed how different he looked to the last time I'd seen him.

He wore the same armour, but parts of the leather had been ripped away in strips. And other parts of the black and brown leather were stained impossibly darker, with patches of blood, dry with age. A satchel —  _my satchel_ — was strung over his shoulder.

He glanced back, as if sensing my eyes on him.

It was then that I realised that his already dark skin was purpled with bruises, his lip split down the middle. Around his bright iris', his eyes were bloodshot. As if he hadn't slept in days.

Some of his injuries were days old.

 _What happened to him?_  I tightened my grip on Enserric.

"Well, are you coming?" he hissed impatiently, noticing my critical eyes. The teasing tone was gone from his voice. "This place is crawling with them."

"Leave?" I managed. "With  _you_?"

Devil's didn't do anything unless it served them in some way.

What did he get from freeing me?

"You'd rather wait for more of them?" he pointed a knife at one of the demon's corpses. At my narrow eyed expression, his shoulders tensed and, when he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. "Suit your damn-self, but I won't be waiting around with you."

With that, he disappeared around the corner, the spaded tip of his tail grazing the doorway in his wake.

"Shit," I sighed out a shaky breath, looking around me at the mess.

I had no choice — he  _knew_  I had no choice.

So I followed.

I swore again in the hall, seeing the means of the demon's admittance to my small locked cell.

Its long clawed fingers curled in on themselves, spikes sticking out from one side of the sloppily cut wrist. Congealed blood leaked slowly from the stump.

"Is that—" I couldn't finish the question.

The tiefling paused at my tone, turning back with a twisted smile. His eyes darted between me and the barbed devil's severed hand.

"The price for my freedom," he waved a knife in their direction. "They wanted to find a way to open your door. I was more than happy to oblige them."

"Your freedom…?" I repeated slowly.

He shook off my question, eyes narrowing at some memory.

"Should have realised they'd try and gut me as soon as they released me, though." He spat at the floor in disgust. I could see blood in his saliva. When he looked up, his smirk was back in place. "They're not the first to have underestimated me."

I had no doubt about it. I'd seen him fight enough times to know that he was like liquid on the battlefield — there one moment, gone the next. He might be smaller than most of his brethren, but he more than made up for it.

I had more questions. So many more. But he was already making his way up the stairs, as quick and quiet as ever.

Pulling my lips back in a grimace, I followed.

"Where are we going?" I hissed at his back.

He waved me off.

I shadowed him a few steps more, until it was clear he wasn't going to tell me anything. There was no way I was going up there. Not without knowing what we were up against.

I grabbed his shoulder roughly. I pulled him to a stop, leaning closer to him.

"Just what am I walking into?" I hissed into his ear.

Twisting to face me, his smile was a flash of teeth in the low light of the spiralling staircase. He looked manic, exhausted; a shadow of the tiefling I had been forced to fight alongside, time and time again.

I could hear shouting up above, and he glanced up at the sound. I didn't release him.

His shoulders dropped as he released a defeated sigh. "Remember that fight," he eventually said. "With the dretch?"

I searched my memory, the name on his lips familiar. My eyes widened. "The  _ape_  things?" I pressed, voice rising. My grip tightened on his arm.

"If you say so," he shrugged. "It will be like fighting in those trenches. They'll use the dretch to flush everyone out of the halls." He snarled. "But it's the babau that we need to avoid."

I tried to suppress my shudder at the memory of that day.

I pushed aside my fear, forcing my lips to twist into a smirk. "I seem to recall you being almost trampled to death, that day."

"Really?" he snapped. "I'd forgotten. Thank you for the reminder."

But, despite the sharpness to his voice, the spark was back in his eye.

"What kind of defenses are up there?" I pressed. Trying to recall what I knew of the labyrinth of halls. "Are there other devils?"

"Not enough," he hissed. "Some were killed in the first wave against the outer ring. Those that weren't — they left this place to the dogs." He spat again. More blood.

I frowned, surprised me to hear that Mephistar had been all but handed over to the demons.

At the shock on my face, he arched a perfectly curved eyebrow. "Mephistopheles might have been bad blood, but he ran a tight ship." He lifted a lip. "This would never have happened if you hadn't gone and killed the bastard."

I couldn't help the scoff. "So I won't be getting your vote then?" I managed a smirk. "I'll try not to let it keep me up at night."

He shook his head, but I saw his teeth flash in another feral smile.  _This_  was the tiefling I had fought alongside. The tiefling that seemed to be able to survive anything the Blood Wars threw at him. The one I needed today.

A crash sounded up above and we both froze.

The stairs were no place to get caught. I grimaced, remembering my last attempt at fighting on the.

"Well,  _now_  what?" I grit out. "I won't die protecting my prison."

Yellow eyes rolled towards me. As if that was obvious. "I've got a contact; guaranteed me a portal out of here," he snatched his arm out of my grip. "I just need your help getting there."

" _My_  help?"

"I was out numbered; only way through was doubling back this way, towards the armory and you," he grimaced. "Together we might stand a chance."

_He couldn't have grabbed me a bow?_

I felt Enserric's indignant response in my mind.

"What good will a portal do me?" I held my ringed finger up for him with a snarl. "You know I can't leave the hells."

He smirked, eyes flashing. "You won't be. The portal won't take us far."

My mind was reeling, everything was happening too quickly. I needed to think.

I forced myself to take an even breath.

"First, we find Valen," I insisted, lifting Enserric's tip closer to the tiefling's chin.

He scowled down at me, pushing the sword out of his face.

"How 'bout this?" he snapped. "I see the damned tanar'ling, I promise not to gut him."

I mean, it was a start…

"Ah, shit," I sighed, realising I had little to no choice.

I pulled Enserric close, straining to hear more from up above.

"I already know I'm going to regret this."

He shrugged, smirk still firmly in place. "Probably."

I found the sight of it made me feel a fraction better about what we were about to attempt.

And then, like we had so many times before, we ascended the rest of the spiral staircase — towards the waiting demons.


	49. Chapter 49

The first and second kills were the hardest. But, even as my mind hesitated at the thought of more death, my body did not. It knew this dance well. Enserric knew it too, and his blood lust urged me ever forward.

We crossed paths almost immediately with another of the long-limbed horrors from downstairs — the babau, which the yellow-eyes tiefling had warned me about. We tore through it, pressing the advantage of surprise with a good old fashioned beheading. At the commotion, one of dretch — big ape-like creatures, with arms like tree trunks — stopped his assault on a battered door. I could hear someone sobbing in terror on the other side.

The dretch looked between us — with a face not even a mother could love — with its sagging, hate-bright eyes and pig-flat nose. The demon growled, fleshy pink nostrils flaring in the yellow-eyed tiefling's direction.

It lunged.

The tiefling's blades flashed. They were flung with such practiced precision; one, two. And then a third.

And they all struck true.

But then I remembered why he hadn't fared quite so well against the giant demons last time.

The knives struck and held, but the injuries were too shallow to do anything but anger the dretch.

Knowing from experience that there was no other way, I charged ahead with a grimace. Enserric's red light flashed throughout the ice-white hall.

I darted left, right; ducking under outstretched arms.

Then, shouting with effort, I sliced through the creature's stomach, across its groin. Warm blood and guts splashed my face and arms.

I only barely managed to escape its falling body.

I both heard and felt it collapse behind me, as I leant against the wall with a splayed hand. I panted hard.  _Water — I need water_. And I spat a mouthful of the demon's blood from my lips.

Even with Enserric feeding me what energy he could, I was severely out of shape. I wasn't going to last long.

The tiefling smirked at the sight of my blood-covered form, and — eyes locked on my own — he placed a boot against the green demon, tugging his knives from the fresh corpse.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," he chuckled.

I attempted to snarl back; "Too late." But it came out more of an exhausted hiss.

As the thumping in my ears lessened, my eyes snapped back towards the sounds of terror coming from the other side of the door. Young, female —  _one of the women who dressed me before battle?_ The tiefling didn't give me a chance to investigate. Armed again, he rushed forward, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me down the hall with him. Away from the sounds.

I didn't stop him.

We ran, and then — when I couldn't any more — we walked. But mostly we waited, with breaths bated, as devils and demons passed us by.

I had no idea where we were going, having long passed anything that looked familiar. I'd only ever seen the throne room, the bedroom where I was prepared for each battle, and my cell.

The tiefling seemed confident enough, but the hazy glaze to his eyes made me nervous. I was relying solely on him to get me out. If he collapsed or caught the wrong end of a sword, I was in serious trouble.

He knew it too, and was relying on me to fight for us.

Down one particularly bloody hall, we passed the bodies of foot soldiers; most devilish, some demonic. And — on the few that I had time to look over — I saw the cause of death. Knives; lots of them.  _His?_  I glanced at the tiefling with a raised brow.

My suspicions were confirmed when he offered me a grin, pulling one such knife lose from the neck of a downed devil as we passed it. Without even wiping it clean, he shoved it through his belt.

He'd cut down his own kind. And he didn't seem the least bit put out.

 _Fucking devils,_ I cursed, following.

It seemed everyone wanted him dead. "No wonder you need my help," I managed between gulps of air.

He didn't respond, simply holding out a hand and motioning for me to slow down, as we approached the end of another hall.

A moment later, I heard what he did — fighting. Lots of it.

Thankfully, the sounds were flagging by the second.

I gripped Enserric tighter and risked poking my head around the corner, hissing at what I saw. The halls ahead were splattered in blood. Bodies littered the floor, and still more fought around them. My eyes widened at the sight of the familiar black armour, heart stuttering in my chest for the barest of moments. But none of the bodies or fighting creatures looked familiar.  _Still no Valen._

I tucked my body back out of sight, shaking my head at the tiefling.  _Not yet._

We waited for the demon's to finish off the defending devil's before we revealed ourselves to the smaller force. The five we faced were a mix of races, mostly mixed-blood tieflings, and all in variations of the same black armour Valen had worn when I'd last seen him.

I could see the anger and hate in their blood-red eyes as I killed them.

Every time I swung, another fell. Everytime I stepped away, my temporary companion's knives found their mark. We fought quickly, working well together.

Strike, retreat, duck. Strike, sidestep,  _thump_.

We fought until there were none left. Only the mounds of their bodies, and the puddles of their blood on the once-white floor. I didn't look too long at the carnage. The tiefling didn't either.

"Where now?" was all I asked.

He led me down another hall and we cleared that too, and then the next. We found fewer and fewer devils as we progressed. And more and more demons.

Despite the chill in the air, my skin was slick and swollen with sweat. I had long ago lost the ability to tell the difference between my tarnished paint and sweat, from the blood coating it. Thankfully, most of the blood was  _theirs_. But, as my fatigue set in, I knew I was getting more and more sloppy. It would only take one lucky hit. One misstep.

Each time we entered a new room, a new hall, my heart would leap with hope; the only flash of something human left within me, as I killed and killed and killed. But we didn't find Valen in those halls — each flash of red was just more blood, more demons.

We had just cleared another hall — both of us forced into an accompanying antechamber to help defend our backs — when the yellow-eyed tiefling placed a clawed hand around my shoulder, stilling me.

"Almost there," he breathed. In warning; in relief.

We'd fought far longer battles than this. But every time we'd been in better shape to begin with. I'd never seen him look so exhausted. And every step he took seemed to cause him pain.

I wasn't doing much better.

Grimacing, I pulled at the satchel —  _my satchel_ — slung across his shoulder, searching for something to help.

He let me jostle him in my search, eyes blinking blearily ahead. Too tired to question me.

Inside, there wasn't much. It stunk of rotting fruit and decay, and the outside of my notebook looked like it was swollen with the peaches rotten juices. Mostly, it was just my coin purse — which was surprisingly untouched — and some useless knickknacks.

But the small vials were still there. Still intact.

"Here," I thrust one under his nose.

Uncorking it tentatively, he sniffed the opening with a frown.

"What is it?" he pressed skeptically.

Uncorking my own, I tipped it back with a hiss. I could taste the barkiness of the endurance potion first, followed by the sickly sweet tang of the softsugar tea I'd mixed in. I washed it around my mouth. Swallowed.

There was barely a mouthful, but I knew it would be more than enough.

The tiefling shrugged, before downing his own.

My jaw, the spot just near my ears, tingled as warmth spread through my body. I blinked as the potent softsugar immediately kicked in; like a dull buzzing in the back of my head.

"Wow," he looked at the empty vial in disbelief. I saw him working his jaw as he blinked in surprise. "What  _is_ that?"

"A hail Mary," I told him, closing the satchel. My hands were shaking.

 _If_ we made it out, I knew we were both going to regret drinking the tiny vials. But we would worry about it then.

I pulled him down the hall behind me.

Yellow eyes alight with the same wild energy I felt thrumming through my veins, we approached the end slowly. Blood slid from the tips of our drawn weapons, sweat from our brows.

We didn't waste any more time.

At the end of the hall stood a chamber. No — an entrance hall. Massive and white and sparkling with light. The glow leached through the icy walls all around us. And, at the other side of the room stood massive doors of polished stone.

We stopped as soon as we saw what waited between us and the doors.

The space was filled with demons, all guarding against any attempt at escape. Between us and the wall of waiting creatures, the bodies of devils and humans littered the floor. There were more dead between us than I'd ever suspected lived within the icy walls. I swallowed at the sight. My eyes darted around the room, jumping from body to body. And then from demon to demon.

There were so many of them. A mismatch of different shapes and colours and sizes. Far more than we could ever hope to kill. There was some chuckling, the echos of a snicker.

Bodies shifted to approach. All clad in black.

I snarled at their approach, ready to be done with it. I felt the tiefling press closer to my side. Neither of us were giving in, but we both knew how this would end.

And then I froze — eyes catching on a flash of red hair. It took all my control not to drop Enserric, then and there.

Across the room, our eyes caught. My grey meeting his blue. I saw the careful indifference on his face falter.

His throat bobbed in a deep swallow, gaze lingering as he took in every detail of my face — I could see the relief on his features, but also the anger — it shone through his crumbling mask of careful indifference

_Valen._

I smiled. "There you are." My voice was barely a whisper, shaking with each breath.

The tiefling by my side tensed in surprise, eyes searching for what I saw.

Valen offered me a curt nod, raising his weapon with the others.

My smile grew.

The demons didn't know what hit them.

With a roar, he tore through them with his flail, his horns, his fists. The demons were all shouting now, turning to see who had betrayed them.

My eyes held the gaze of two charging demons as I lifted Enserric.

"Remember," I shouted to the yellow-eyed tiefling, barely hearing myself over the clang of weapons. A laugh burst out of me; a ragged, manic sound. "You promised not to gut him."  _Don't you fucking dare._

I saw his lips curl up at my comment, before he flung his wrist back, letting go of a knife. It found purchase in the throats of one of the demons that had turned to swarm Valen.  _I guess that's answer enough._  Valen barely paused at the other tielfing's assistance, spinning to knock back the bulk of demon's with another mighty swing of his flail.

Without a backward glance, the yellow-eyed tiefling darted ahead, black hair whipping around him. Two more knives were in his fisted hands.

I charged forward with a shout, heart thudding in my chest.


	50. Chapter 50

If Valen was concerned by my new companion, he didn't show it — merely offering me a raised eyebrow and sideways glance. Thankfully, my nod of reply had been enough to convince him to lower his flail, no questions asked. I glanced at the other tiefling to see if he'd noticed the exchange, but his usually sharp eyes were closed. His head had been resting back against the wall as he caught his breath, a scattering of demon's bodies bleeding by his feet. He looked how I felt.

We needed him for the portal out… assuming he had even been telling the truth. And after that? Well, after that he was on his own.

I turned back to Valen, eyes hungry and imploring.

"How—?"

 _How are you here?_  I wanted to ask, but he stilled me with a small shake of his head. He was peering out the slightly ajar door, back pressed hard against the icy wall.

"Later," he insisted, teeth gritted hard.

He waved a hand for me to follow, and then — without any further warning — disappeared into the world outside. The other tiefling and I hurried to follow, weapons drawn and ready.

The only devils we saw outside of the palace's walls were busy fighting against the overwhelming number of demons, and — more commonly — littering the streets; eyes staring vacantly at the white sky.

We fought our way through the winding streets of the almost empty city — the fights infinitely quicker and easier with Valen taking lead. Hope blossomed in my chest, growing brighter and brighter the further we went.

The yellow-eyed tiefling had been content following Valen's lead, until — in the relative safety of an alley — I grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and forced him to face me. He grimaced in pain, yanking his shoulder out of my grip.

"So?" I hissed. "Where's this damn portal?"

He lifted his hands defensively, lips pulled back in a snarl. "If they're still alive, then  _not_ in Mephistar," he gritted out. "We need to get away from the city. Far enough that they can risk portalling us out."

I felt Enserric's cautious optimism. ' _Well, I don't_ think  _he's lying,'_  he murmured to me. He definitely didn't sound sure.

I looked ahead to Valen, to relay the message, only to find him watching us. His eyes were narrowed as he considered the other tiefling. At my look, he offered me a curt nod to show he'd heard, before continuing ahead.

Valen lead us away from the city gates and the bulk of the fighting, towards a hole, blasted clear through some of the wall. Together we made quick work of the demons guarding the area, before scurried through on all fours. The yellow-eyed tiefling pushed his way through first, and Valen waited for me to go next. I crawled over scorch marks and splattered blood, the ice scratching at my exposed skin, before the howling winds of the Wastes greeted us on the other side.

Behind us, the city sat atop a jagged glacier; jutting out of the frozen river like a massive cut diamond. And, ahead, the icy plains continued as far as the eye could see. Taking in the landscape, I spared a meagre thought for the old peeling paint on my skin; my only protection against the elements, before pushing on.

It wasn't long until the sounds of shouting rang out behind us. Sentries; realising that we had slipped past their lines.

We pushed ourselves harder.

The slick ice made for a treacherous sprint, and my ankles roared with the effort of keeping me upright. To top it off, the flat landscape offered us absolutely no protection against projectiles…

An arrow thudded against the hard ground ahead of me.

I sucked in a cold lungful of air, skidding around the arrow's shaft. My arms pumped hard by my side as I darted ahead, attempting to keep pace with Valen. I did my best to ignore the distant twangs of bows from the city's rampants.

Another hiss of arrows pierced the air, and I risked a glance over my shoulder.

I counted the dots of movement in the white sky, noting their trajectory and veering away. Pushing ahead, I risked another glance back at the sound of the next volley.

…and my stomach dropped.

At the frozen river's edge — near the hole in the wall through which we'd escaped — stood a massive towering form. The balor demon smiled at the three of us, lifting a massive hand, wreathed in flames.

Flames, to melt the ice on which we stood.

Flesh met ice, and steam rippled. The surface went opaque, thawing in a line that shot straight for us—

"Run!" I shouted at the sight, pumping my arms harder.

"What do you think I've been doing?" The yellow-eyed tiefling huffed from up ahead.

"The ice," I warned Valen between desperate pants. "It's melting!"

Valen's face was set in a look of concentration, and he took a few laboured breaths before he replied. "Then they're cutting off their direct path to us," he said. It didn't make me feel any better.

Ahead, the ice stretched on forever.

"Faster," Valen ordered.

We weren't going to make it…

"Don't look," he barked, as I began turning my head to see the extent of the balor's damage.

Valen lashed out a hand to grip my elbow, steadying me before I could even register that I'd stumbled.

I cursed my stupidity.

I should be running laps around him. The yellow-eyed tiefling should have been, too. Instead, I could barely keep my footing. Could barely keep pace, despite his heavier weaponry and armour.

My lagging, stumbling steps were the after-effects of the softsugar tea; the false energy it had gifted us with was fading fast.

Soon, I wouldn't be able to run at all.

There was a flash of red from the sword at my belt, and I felt a rush of warmth and energy. It wasn't as powerful as before, but it was enough.

I sent a silent thanks to Enserric.

Suddenly, Valen shoved me aside and I staggered, arm wheeling to keep my balance.

An arrow ricocheted off the ice where I'd been.

"Focus," Valen growled. "The ice is thicker, further out."

Water splashed beneath my boots — the ice thawing.

I hurtled ahead, weaving in and out of Valen and the other tiefling's path as arrows continued landing all around us. Their numbers were thinning, the further we got from the walls — but none of that would matter, if the ice didn't hold.

And no matter how far we went, the ice beneath us melted, and melted…

I heard a groan beneath my feet. And then—

_Crack!_

I spun, seeing the tiefling's wide yellow eyes as he realised what was happening. His arms shot out as the ground gave way beneath him. He opened his mouth to shout, before the black water swallowed him whole.

I didn't think.

Ice sliced into my face, my hands. I dove towards him. My chest slammed against the cracking ice's edge as I stretched. I screamed as his claws found purchase in my arm, tugging and shredding.

Behind, steps thudded on the ice. I felt Valen's hand as it wrapped around my ankle. He started dragging me back, away from the claws that scraped rivets through my skin.

Valen tugged again, and I was torn from the sinking tiefling's failing grip. The reaching hands disappeared back below the water's roiling surface.

_No!_

I kicked back wildly at Valen, attempting to free my ankle. But he held strong.

"We need him!" I hissed.

Valen paused, but still his steady grip remained.

"I didn't come all this way only for you to drown!" he retorted gruffly.

His other hand circled hard around my ankle, tense and ready. Shimmying forward, I stretched again for the water. I reached for the darkest point, face pinched in pain—

The water exploded.

Yellow eyes wide in fear, the tiefling surfaced again with a heaving gasp.

All around us, more arrows fell. Some into the river's dark depths, and some so close I could feel the wind shift. But — somehow, thankfully — none found purchase.

Eyes wide and searching, the tiefling's head sunk back below the water. The surface roiled with his desperate flailing.

Valen's grip tightened.

_Just one more sec..._

I realised a breath of air as, precious seconds later, the tiefling surfaced again; more slowly than last time. His arms hit the ice, chipping more away, as he clawed at the empty air.

"Take my  _fricken_  hand," my fingers grazed his own.

I could just make out the balor's smiling face from amongst the flames, as they erupted brighter than ever. All around us the ice continued to crack.

My chest, my stomach; they were covered in water from the thawing river.

I felt Valen's hands tense around my ankle, ready to pull. "Jane," he growled in warning.

"Kinda busy, here," I gritted out.

The clawed fingers grabbed at me, and — this time — I was ready. My forearm screamed at the burn of his claws. But, despite the pain, I flung my other hand towards his elbow, grabbing hold and  _pulling_.

The icy cold water felt as if it were burning, and I closed my eyes against the painful sting.

"Got him!"

Valen heaved me away from the waters edge with a grunt of effort.

I held his soaked arm tight and felt the suck of water as it released the gasping tiefling from its depths. Breathing hard, we scrambled from the edge.

"Fuck," I faintly heard him through the chattering of his teeth. "That was brisk."

Vallen pulled the other tiefling to his feet and immediately pushed him forward.

No time to assess injuries, we were running again. Sprinting across the ice, feet slapping against the water.

The floor grumbled and groaned all around us.

 _It's gonna break it's gonna break it's gonna break_ —

"Almost there," Valen urged me on.

I squinted against the glare, trying to see what he saw.

Almost  _where_?!

But then I understood; he hadn't  _seen_ anything.

I suddenly realised that we hadn't needed to dodge a single arrow. Not since pulling the yellow-eyed tiefling from the water. And a couple of heart beats later, I began noticing other things. The groaning beneath our feet was gone, the sheets of ice no longer shifting.

And the water was getting shallower!

The balor's roar echoed towards us, as he too realised we were out of his reach.

Slowing, I risked a glance back—

But then Valen's hand was on my shoulder, urging me on.

I don't know how much longer we ran across the flat plains.  _One more step, just one more step_ , my mind kept urging me; growing more and more sluggish by the second.

I was close to giving up, when the yellow-eyed tiefling tripped, collapsing in a heap.

Slowing, I turned sluggishly to see what had happened.

He didn't get back up.

Valen slowed, before stopping, jogging to check on him.

"Still alive," he told me. He looked over his shoulder, before taking in the sight of me; hunched over and breathing hard. "Let's catch our breaths for a moment."

I used the rare reprieve to spit thick wads of saliva from my mouth, wiping my tacky lips against the back of my pale, marbling fingers. Looking down at them, I hissed out a curse as I realised that the water had washed the paint from my hands; exposing them to the unforgiving cold.

Around us, the outline of the city's walls were still visible past the collapsed tiefling's body, and the flat expanse of Cania stretched ever-on, everywhere I looked.

We needed to find that portal,  _fast_.

Noting my injured arm, pulled tight against my chest, Valen frowned down at his bag, rifling through it. As he searched, I watched him.

The harsh white light made the blues of his eyes impossible bright, bright and soft with worry.

"Valen…"

At the sound of his name, he looked up. When our gazes met, he paused. He must have seen the look on my face, as he eventually reached out. I let him pull me to him, too exhausted to do anything but gasp out a sob. Pulling me against his chest, he breathed me in, burying his face in my matted hair. I curled my arms around his chest, squeezing hard, not wanting to let go.

But it was over all too soon.

He pulled away, and I immediately missed his warmth, as he went back to sorting through his meagre belongings.

My knees wobbled, and I let my legs give way, collapsing onto the hard ground. My muscles cried out, and my eyes felt impossibly heavy. It felt as if the pain and fear of the last few months hit me all at once.

Valen, having found what he was looking for, knelt before me, pushing something into my stiff grasp. I looked down to find gloves —  _my gloves!_ — and managed a weak smile. His knees nudged my own as he edged closer with a nod.

As I attempted to pull my gloves on, I didn't miss the way his eyes hardened as they roamed across every inch of me; taking in my injuries and the evidence of my time without food. I pointedly tried to avoid his gaze. At my fumbling, he stopped me; wrapping fingers around my frozen wrist and frowning down at the shredded skin with a grimace. Careful of my injuries, he helped me pull the gloves onto each of my fingers before silently passing me a healing potion. Again, he watched me, that concern shining through, and I did my best not to shrink under his scrutiny. But I knew how much weight I'd lost, how ragged I looked.

I gulped the potion down gratefully — the liquid sloshing around my too-empty stomach — even knowing that it would do nothing for the exhaustion taking root.

I eyed the fallen tiefling with guilt, when he didn't receive the same careful treatment. I could see the little puffs of vapour as they escaped his parted lips, and he'd curled his knees up against his chest.

"Jane…"

My eyes darted back to Valen's own.

In that one word I heard so much more than just my name.

I heard all of the sleepless nights he would have spent pacing, thinking I'd left without saying anything. I heard how hard the last few weeks had been for him.

And I heard his frustration.

"You're mad," I whispered.

Smiling my favourite smile — small and rueful — Valen placed a hand on my shoulder. He slid his fingers up my neck, until my cheek came to rest hard against his palm. I leant into him, craving his warmth.

"Maybe I am," he said softly. I bit my lip as his eyes shuttered, the soft warmth hardening into something more fitting for our current predicament. "Come. Now is not the time."

His hand fell away, and I immediately missed his touch.

No. Now  _was_ the time.

Look where putting things off had gotten us.

And I'd feel a lot better about freezing to death if I knew he wasn't mad at me.

"How did you find me?"

I saw his eyes pinch at my stubborn insistence. But, eventually, he shook his head. He didn't get up, his bent knees knocking against my own.

"Your god; Shaundakul," he explained. "He told me where you were."

My eyes widened, heart beating faster in panic. "Shaundakul? That was—"

"Asmodeus," Valen finished for me, nodding. "At least, it was for  _you_ , based on what he told me. Turns out the devil's involvement annoyed the real Shaundakul. He said you asked for help?" He raised an eyebrow.

…My prayers had been answered?

I blinked at him in surprise.

Valen shrugged. "He got involved, anyway. Told me where you had ended up and summoned me a portal to Sigil."

I sucked in a breath.  _More_ god's getting involved? I shook my head in disbelief. It seemed even  _they_ didn't want me ruling Cania.

I looked back up at him. "And you found a portal to Cania?" I asked in disbelief.

He huffed. "If only it had been that simple. No; I found one to the Abyss. From there it was easy enough to jump to Cania."

Easy enough as part of a mindless army in the Blood Wars…

Valen made to stand, and this time I reached out to him, fingers wrapping around his arm. He froze.

I swallowed. "I didn't leave."

He paused, eyes finding my own and waiting. His features were too carefully schooled; I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"The portal opened, but I wasn't going to go through it," I told him, managing a choked laugh. "I was at the market, buying us same damned  _peaches_ , of all things. And then it just…" I shrugged. "It sucked me through."

What had seemed so logical and romantic at the time, now seemed absolutely ridiculous.

I stared straight into his eyes, willing him to see the truth of it. "I wanted to stay."

Nearby, the bundle of tiefling hissed, shivering as a gust of wind tore through us.

I saw Valen turning the words over, and squeezed his arm once before letting go.

Before I could say anything more, he was pushing himself to his feet. He reached out a hand to help me up, and I took it gratefully. I squeezed his hand gently, meeting his eyes. He let go first.

With a grunt of effort, Valen collected the smaller tiefling in his arms.

Despite my exhaustion, I didn't argue when he pushed us to continue, setting a brisk walking pace that my shaking legs could barely match. I focused on each step, each breath; my shredded arm tucked hard against my chest, numb from the cold. But, eventually, I managed to get my breathing under control, and it no longer felt like my lungs were about to explode.

The city disappeared behind us, until I feared that we would begin walking in circles with no reference point. But that didn't slow Valen, intent as he was on putting as much distance between us and my prison as possible.

After a while, the tiefling in Valen's arms became completely still. And he would have looked dead, but for the occasional flutter of his dark eyelashes. His lids darted around rapidly, trapped in some nightmare.

As the sky darkened, and still nothing around us changed, I began to watch Valen. I traced the line of his jaw, the profile of his nose; comparing it to the image I'd held in my heart, thinking I'd never see him again.

I blinked through my exhaustion blearily, willing him to look back at me.

All I wanted to do was throw my arms around him again, to hold him tight. But still he pushed on, eyes only on the distant horizon.

My throat tightened to the point of pain with everything I wanted to say. More than once I opened my lips to speak, but each time the words left me, exhaustion causing my tongue to feel thick in my mouh.

And not once did Valen look back.

Eventually, I found the words. They just weren't anything that I actually wanted to say. And definitely not what Valen wanted to hear.

"We need to stop," I said.

At first my words didn't seem to register. Valen's steps faltered and his head swivelled around to consider me, bright blue eyes blinking in confusion.

A beat, and then he was walking again. "We cannot stop here," he insisted.

I followed, shivering against the chill. I didn't say anything more. I didn't have the energy.

The distance between us was widening more and more by the minute, but still he pushed on.

The light was just dipping below the horizon, staining the usually white plain a bruised blue, when he spoke again.

"We can melt some of the packed ice enough to soften it — maybe build a shelter," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Do you think that's possible?" I asked his back between gulping breaths of frigid air.

He didn't seem to hear me, shaking his head and pushing us on. I knew without his confirmation that it wasn't a good plan. We couldn't melt the ice deep enough to hide from the wind — not without risking another swim.

All around us, it was flat. Stretching on and on and on…

But then —

"There," Valen said.

He motioned ahead with his chin, to a spot where the land began to slope away from us. Exhausted relief shone through in his tone.

It wasn't long before the flat, glassy ice began to crunch beneath our feet. And, as we eventually made our way up the slope, the densely packed snow began softening with each of our heavy steps.

I collapsed onto the fresh snow, the ground soft and welcoming. I sighed, as the cool snow made my pain wracked body numb.

Distantly, I heard Valen say something; the low timber of his voice concerned. When I didn't reply, he said something, louder again. At the sound of his voice, I smiled faintly. It was a sound I'd resigned myself to never hear again.

I ignored the twinge at the back of my head that was Enserric, ignored the frantic edge to his thoughts.

 _It's okay_ , I tried to tell him. But my mouth wouldn't work for some reason.

I closed my eyes, and slept; knowing I was safe now that Valen was here with me.


	51. Chapter 51

We sat with our backs up against a squat barricade of packed snow; our only defence against the unrelenting wind. On my left lay the tiefling, his yellow eyes clenched hard against the snowy whiteness. The occasional full-bodied shudder was the only sign that he still lived. And on my right sat Valen, solemn and silent as ever. Beneath me, I could feel the uncomfortable curve of his breastplate; the only thing stopping the snow from leaching into our clothes.

I had no memory of Valen building the barricade, as I'd passed in and out of consciousness. I only remembered his voice as it eventually pulled me out of the darkness. I'd blinked up at his pinched blue eyes, tight with worry, and had heard the crackling of a fire.

"Got marshmallows?"

It had been the first thing I'd said to him, as I'd fought against another full-bodied shiver. My voice had been raw, a croaky rasp. But it was worth it, just to see the relief pass across his face, softening the hard line of his mouth. Since then, I'd remained pressed hard against his side, unabashedly stealing his warmth as the stuttering fire did its best to stay lit.

"Well," I stammered as another hour passed with still there no portal. "This is less than ideal."

Valen scoffed. Leaning forward he fed the tiny fire another velox berry from his dwindling supply.

I'd spent the last few hours trying to think of another plan. Something,  _anything_ , which didn't rely solely on the yellow-eyed tiefling or his dubious contact. We'd been unable to wake him, and I'd begrudgingly admitted that the combination of the softsugar tea and his dip in the frigid water had probably earned him a few extra hours of sleep.

_Not to mention whatever he'd gone through before saving me…_

The potion I had slowly fed him had lightened the bruising on his face, and returned his deathly pallor to something closer to his usual tone. But I could only hope it had been enough to heal the other damage his armour hid.

_But it will do nothing to raise his temperature…_

The fire popped, shaking me from my thoughts.

Valen looked just as lost in thought; blowing warm air onto his gloves hands and staring into the flames. I could see his mind working behind troubled blue eyes and I felt the sudden urge to tuck a strand of his windswept hair behind a delicately pointed ear.

Scoffing, I shook my head, forcing my mind from  _that_ train of thought. But those ears weren't just for looks. He heard, turning to face me with a raised brow. At his expectant look, I fished for something to say.

"So," I started. "You  _really_ didn't have any plan?" My teeth chattered on each word. "I mean, beyond getting  _into_ Mephistar?"

"Sorry to disappoint." His shrug moved the cloak draped across both our shoulders, cold air rushing in between us. I pushed hard against his side to keep our small cocoon of warmth intact. "My plan ended at the doors of the palace." He almost sounded sheepish.

"Yeah. I noticed that," I could feel every point of contact between us. "You couldn't have come a  _little_ bit further in? Helped us get out?"

A faint smirk coloured his lips. "And just how was I supposed to know where you were? I would have run the risk of missing you entirely." He glanced at me side-on, his expression sly. "I knew you would find a way to use the attack to your advantage." I felt his shoulders move in another shrug. "All I had to do was wait by the doors."

The confidence in his tone almost made my freezing cheeks warm in a blush.

"I  _am_ pretty wiley," I joked.

But I couldn't stop my gaze from snagging on the sleeping tiefling on my other side, feeling a surprising flash of concern.

I sighed. "But I'd have died, without his help." I suddenly didn't feel like joking anymore.

Remembering the rotten stench of the demons that had come to my cell to kill me, my stomach roiled.

Lips set in a thin line, Valen considered the other tiefling. "Do not forget that it served his own purpose." He said carefully. "You helped him, just as much as he did you."

"I know that."

He huffed. "And it is beginning to look like he was lying about this portal."

"Then what do we do?"

At my tone, blue eyes darted back to me. He considered me for a moment, before he seemed to come to a decision. A little awkwardly, he placed his arm around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him. His warmth was intoxicating. As he settled, his fingers grazed my neck, sending a jolt of electricity through me, before resting against my shoulder and then my arm. Taking a deep breath, I let myself relax.

I felt a jagged smile tug at my lips. "At least I'll freeze to death with good company," I murmured.

Valen gave my arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

For a while, the only sound was the wailing of the wind. And, try as I might, I could see nothing beyond the small bubble of light the fire offered. But, despite our exposed position and the sheer hopelessness of it all, I found my eyes were drifting shut when Valen eventually spoke again.

"I was thinking," he hummed, jolting me back into awareness. "We should seek out The City of Lost Souls." He drummed his fingers against my arm. "Perhaps the Reaper—"

Yawning, I shook my head. "Asmodeus said he'd dealt with him."

He scoffed. "Of course he did." A deep breath. "Well, it is a bearing, at the very least. We will come up with the next step once we are  _sure_  the Reaper cannot be of use." He raised his eyebrow at me pointedly. "You know well how much devils like to lie."

I felt the sting of shame and bristled.  _Did I?_  Asmodeus had never outright lied to me. It didn't make sense for him to start now. The same went for the yellow-eyed tiefling. They dealt in half truths and deceptions.

Before I could reply, my stomach clenched painfully, emitting a loud grumble. At the sound, Valen pulled away from me momentarily, fishing through his pocket. A moment later he pulled out a small leather pouch.

"Here. You must be hungry."

I could feel myself salivating. "Starving," I agreed.

Again, there was that look of concern; his eyes glancing over me so quickly I almost missed it.

I snatched the pouch from his hands, peeking inside to see some kind of jerked meat, torn into bite sized strips. The smell of it was overwhelming.

Smiling, I shoved a handful into my mouth.

It was hard, far too salty; but oh so  _wonderful_. Barely five seconds later, still chewing noisily, I went back for another handful.

I let my eyes flutter shut. "Food," I groaned through a mouth full of food, drawing out the 'o'. "Gods, I love you."

_...oh._

Hand frozen in the pouch, I blinked down at it in surprise.

Because my first instinct was to correct myself; to say I had been talking about the food.

It would have been easy.

But I didn't.

…Because I realised just how much I meant it.

I  _loved_ him.

I loved this stubborn man. This impossible tiefling who I'd told myself to keep away from, again and again. Who had come to hell — not once, but  _twice_ — for me.

And I needed him to know that I meant it.

Heart fluttering in my chest, I glanced up at him—

—to find him watching me carefully, watching as the thoughts played across my face.

Gently, he placed his hand atop mine, drawing it away from the pouch of food. He raised his other to my cheek, tracing the line of my lips with a thumb.

But then his eyes crinkled in laughter as he plucked a crumb of the jerky from my face. And I immediately felt the swell of need evaporate in a short burst of surprised laughter.

"You are a mess, my lady," he chuckled, flicking the food into the fire.

I rubbed a wrist against my smiling mouth, as I looked down at my equally messy clothes, nose scrunched in distaste.

"Yeah, I think these need to be burned."

But when I looked up for his reply — though his smile was still in place — his eyes were tentative.

"Jane, I… I need to tell you something."

A vice squeezed my chest, and for a moment I forgot the cold. His hands were back on my own. Eyes imploring.

"It is something I wanted to tell you in Waterdeep… but I was foolish. I didn't think…"

_He didn't think I would leave so soon…_

I flushed at the memory of his touch. And again I thought of that look I had seen in his eyes. He hadn't needed to say anything — not then, and not now. It had all been written on his face.

And it had been enough of a declaration for me to decide, then and there, to stay.

Valen cleared his throat, attempting to find the words, and I saw the heat of a blush climbing his neck. At his flustered nervousness, I felt the pressure in my chest disappear.

But I didn't let him say what he wanted to.

Because I already knew how he felt. I'd known for a while now.

It was time  _he_  knew.

I felt the flutter of butterflies in my chest.

"I love you, Valen."

He inhaled, eyes darting between my own. HIs lips pulled into a smile that lit up his whole face, as my free hand snaked up his neck.

He drew in another steadying breath to speak.

"Jane, I—"

I didn't stop to think. I leant across and kissed him.

It took him the barest second to react, then he twisted and kissed me back, arms winding tight around me, the hard planes of his body pressed against mine.

All too soon, I felt him pulling away.

Tightening my grip on his neck I tried to keep him there, for just a moment longer. I felt the ghost of a smile curve against my lips.

Reaching up, he caught my hand in his, and I huffed in frustration as he pulled away.

"You are impossible." He sounded exasperated, but his smile remained.

And then I heard the crackling of the fire, the howling of the wind, and I remembered where we were.

I tightened my grip on his hand, snaking my other up his chest.

I sighed. "Why did I have to be so damn stupid?" I pressed my flushed cheek against his chest. "We're both going to die here. And don't tell me it's not my own damn fault we're in this mess."

I felt his chest move in what might have been a huff of laughter — maybe a light scoff. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic."

I slapped his chest lightly, scowling through a bitter little smile.

I let myself enjoy the moment. Knowing that it would come to an end, and there was nothing he or I could do about it.

But Valen didn't allow me the moment to wallow. He lifted my chin and forced me to meet his eyes.

"This is all your fault." He brushed the hair back from my cheeks, cupping my face in his rough hands. "We are probably going to die here." He skimmed his lips over mine. "And what I was trying to say, before my lady very rudely interrupted, is that I love you. With all my heart."

He kissed me again, and this time, he didn't stop – not until my cheeks were flushed and my heart was racing, not until I could barely remember where we were and what that meant. Not until we felt the heat of the fire waning.

And, once the fire was fed, we slept curled up against each other, beneath the starless sky of Cania.


	52. Chapter 52

That night, I slept in Valen's arms, wrapped in his cloak, warmer than I ever thought possible in a place like this. We whispered in the dark, stealing kisses until I could no longer fight my exhaustion. But it didn't go any further than that, it wasn't the time or the place. And we were ever conscious of the tiefling lying only a few feet away.

Some part of me wished that a devil or demon had come in the night and put an arrow through both of our hearts. That it would leave us there forever; two bodies that would turn to dust and be forgotten.

I thought about what our life might be like now, if I hadn't made a deal with a devil. Or if the portal had truly taken me home, away from him to my family. I thought of all these things.

…Maybe Valen was right; "Maybe I do have a flair for the dramatic." I mumbled.

Enserric flashed red in what could only be agreement and I flicked some powdered snow in his direction, waking Valen with the movement.

He came to with a sleepy groan, tightening his arms around me once before begrudgingly letting go. I felt warmth thrum through me at the gentle caress of his lips against my head.

As much as I wanted to stay in his arms forever, I followed him up. I ate dried meat and I drank bitter tea and I considered the impossible task ahead of us as Valen saw to the other tiefling.

But then Valen's voice cut through my thoughts, his tone grim.

"He's dead."

I was emptying the dregs of my tea in the snow and, at first, his words didn't register.

I glanced over with a frown.

Valen was squatting in the snow, one hand on the other tiefling's shoulder, the other testing for a pulse at his throat.

"He's what?" I blinked at him.

"Dead," he repeated.

And just like that, my little bubble from last night popped.

At first glance, the tiefling simply looked like he was sleeping. His eyes shut, and his knees tucked up against his chest.

But then I saw the waxen colour of his usually dark and ruddy skin, the ice on his lashes. I wondered vaguely when it had happened and felt a flash of guilt that — at some point when I'd been kissing Valen, or huddled into his warmth — my jailer and forced companion of months past had died mere meters from me.

"I didn't even know his name." I realised.

But already, Valen was sorting through the other tiefling's pockets with an indifference that sent a surprising stab of annoyance through me. I stared down at the body in disbelief.

"We can't stay here," Valen stood when he found nothing of worth to us, looking over his shoulder. "We need to keep moving."

I frowned. "He was our way out of here."

Valen stepped across him towards me, hands finding my own. "There was no portal. He was lying to get your help." He stated simply. "We stick to the plan; make for the Reaper."

I shook my head. "We need him."

"Jane," Valen squeezed my hands. "Even if we had charges on the rod to spare, he was lying—"

"He's never lied to me." I realised, thinking of our time fighting, our spitting of words between the high bars of my window.

He may have been my jailer, but he had always been honest, even when it was hurtful.  _Especially_ then.

I pulled my hands from Valen's and paced a few steps. "He's evil, and an arsehole. But he's always been truthful with me." I turned back to him with a frown. "Besides, why would he lie? He would have known we'd all be dead a few days out here. No way he leaves the city without an out."

"But he  _is_ dead," Valen pointed out, before lifting his arms to motion around us. "And I see no portal."

"Then he miscalculated." I replied immediately. "I'm sure he didn't  _intend_  to fall into the water." I shook my head again. "He said we had to get far from the city, for the portal. Maybe we're just not far enough." I let hope lighten my voice.

Valen's eyes darted between my own as he considered my words, his skepticism clear. But, at my determined look, he didn't argue any further, sighing as he moved towards his bag. He paused when a hand was inside, raising an eyebrow.  _Are you sure?_ His eyes seemed to ask. At my nod, he pulled out the Rod of Resurrection.

He was slow to hand it to me, and when I took it from him, he held firm.

"It is the last charge," he warned me. Like I wasn't already all-too-aware. "If you are wrong—"

I raised my other hand to his cheek, forcing a smile to my lips and injecting confidence I didn't quite feel into my tone.

"I'm right." I told him. A rueful smirk curling my lips "Besides, if I'm wrong, we won't need the last charge, anyway."

"Comforting," Valen muttered, as he released the rod.

 _One charge. Make it count._  Mind racing, I went through our options.

"How many more berries do you have?" I asked as I considered the near frozen tiefling.

"Not enough," Valen grumbled. At my pointed look he sighed, shaking his head. "Four. Enough for another fire."

"Make it work with three." I told him. "Give me the other."

And so our morning went.

I —  _very carefully_  — ground down the berry Valen begrudgingly handed over, using a plain stone the yellow-eyed tiefling had stashed in my satchel.

Meanwhile, Valen fed the fire with painstaking care, and — once it was as big as he was going to get it — he dragged the tiefling's body closer to the sputtering warmth. Valen took his own cloak from around his shoulders, heating it by the flames. His expression was grim as he watched me work.

Missing my herbal kit, I mixed a healing potion with the berry slowly, watching as the liquid fizzed each time more of the red mush was added. I could only hope that it would work just as well without a binding agent.

"What happened to the rest of my stuff?" I dared to ask, thinking of my bow and the years worth of items I'd collected.

He smiled faintly at the concern in my tone I couldn't quite hide.

"What we wouldn't immediately need, Deekin is taking care of in Waterdeep."

Eventually, as the tiefling's skin thawed to something a little closer to a living beings temperature, I knelt next to him in the snow. The movement stretched the flaking paint on my knees thin, and I hissed at the cold.

"Well," I said, attempting a smirk in Valen's direction. "If I'm wrong, let's never talk about this again."

"My love," Valen started with a gentle smile. I tried to ignore the way my stomach flipped at the word. …What he said next helped. "If you are wrong, we will not be alive long enough to talk about it."

"Comforting," I rolled my eyes, repeating what he'd muttered earlier.

At first, when I placed the end of the rod against the dead tiefling's chest, nothing happened. I swallowed thickly, pressing it instead to the center of the his forehead. There was no ring of magic. No rush of light. Nothing like how the rod usually worked on Toril.

But, all the same, the tiefling's yellow eyes were suddenly blinking blearily up at me, his chest expanding with a great gasping breath.

_Thank shit._

"Shit," he echoed with a groan, his eyes focusing slowly on me. "There're definitely better faces to wake up to."

I smiled despite myself. "Fuck you too."

The tiefling rolled his eyes until they closed again, and I slapped the head of the rod against his chest.

"Hey!"

He jolted awake again.

"There's no more where that came from," I tossed the rod away from us pointedly. "So stay awake."

I fed the tiefling the healing potion with the verox berry mixed through, helping him with a hand against the back of his head. As he coughed and sputtered his way through all of it, Valen made his way around the fire, placing the heated cloak around his shoulders.

When he finished, I pulled him into a sitting position. His claws gently grazed my wrist, making me flinch as I recalled the damage they'd done to my wrist the day before.

With another groan, he pressed his back against the barricade, shivering violently. Stretching his feet out on both sides of the fire, he unabashedly hogged the warmth, pulling the cloak around him as tightly as he could.

"Please tell me I brought you back for a reason," I said, rubbing my face in my hands.

"Besides my winning personality?" He attempted a smirk.

"The portal," Valen pressed through gritted teeth. I didn't need to look to know his tail would be lashing behind him. "Start talking."

He rolled his yellow eyes, before scrunching his nose in distaste. "Good gods, you stink," the tiefling deflected, eyeing me up and down. "When did you find the time to roll in the demon's we killed?" Trailing off, his eyes suddenly widened in understanding, darting between Valen and I with amusement. His smile turned wry, voice dropping into an exaggerated purr. "If you'd shared a bit of the love, maybe I wouldn't have frozen to—"

Valen didn't let him finish, pulling the cloak roughly from the tiefling's grasp and ignoring his hiss of protest.

He bent until their faces were only inches apart.

"If the next words out of your mouth are not about a portal out of Cania," he said slowly, "Then you will not have to worry about freezing again."

He narrowed his yellow eyes, leaning in closer to Valen and snatching back the cloak pointedly.

I could hear a growl growing in Valen's throat, and found myself thankful that he was no longer beholden to his demonic side. Because  _that_ Valen wouldn't have even bothered warning the other tiefling. Instead, we'd be without a resurrection rod, with a yellow-eyed tiefling dead in the snow.

At mine and Valen's stony silence, he sighed. "Relax." He waved us off. "Enough time has passed, and we're  _probably_  far enough now."

"Then where is it?" I felt the tightness in my chest loosening.

He jutted his chin towards my satchel. "Pass it here."

I frowned, carefully passing him my meagre belongings. He started shifting things, as he searched.

But then I watched as the smug expression slowly dropped from his face, his hands rifling through more erratically as something very near panic crossed his features.

"Where is it?" He looked up at us, accusation in his tone.

"Where is  _what_?"

His eyes grabbed mine. "The key!" He snapped. "It was right here." He held the bag up and shook it.

"I've been through it," I said quickly, his panic contagious. "I didn't see any key."

"What did it look like?" Valen pressed consideringly.

"Like any portal key." He snapped. "A rock this big," he held his thumb and index finger a few inches apart. "Next you gonna ask where I saw it last?"

My panic immediately evaporated, realisation taking root. "This one?"

I held up the stone I'd used to crush the berries, enjoying the mix of emotions that flashed across the yellow-eyed tiefling's face.

"Is that blood?" He asked slowly.

I drew a finger along the edge and popped it in my mouth, reveling in the warmth. "Berry juice," I said.

"Do you realise what would have happened if you had damaged that?" His voice was tight.

"We wouldn't have a portal?" I replied simply.

I heard Valen snort.

"I mean… well… yeah!" The tiefling spluttered, cheeks flushed with his outrage. "And for what, so you could crush a few berries?"

"I am beginning to regret it already," Valen mumbled, sharing my smirk.

"So you have your key," I interrupted his rant, carefully tossing the stone to him. "Now what?"

He caught it deftly, levelling another glare my way. Without wasting any time, he rubbed a thumb along one edge slowly.

Immediately, the wind shifted, sucking away from us with a shrill wail.

I edged closer to Valen, who had already shouldered his pack, and was pulling the other tiefling up by the collar.

He stumbled to his feet, trying to bat him away, but Valen held firm.

The portal snapped into existence, a vortex of grey and black tall enough for us to step through, only wide enough for single file.

"You are going first," I shouted over the wind.

A hand flew to his heart. "I'm hurt that you don't trust me," yellow eyes flashed, and I knew he felt no such thing.

I reached for Valen's hand, weaving my fingers through his own and squaring my shoulders. With my other, I drew Enserric.

"No more jumping through, not knowing what's on the other side," I growled. "Where are you taking us?"

He raised an eyebrow at me in challenge, Valen's cloak whipping around him in the portal's wake.

"Phlegethos."

And then he was pulling us through behind him, before I even had time to swear.


End file.
